


the horizon we ride toward

by JourEtNuit



Series: on the other side of this wide night [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-19
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-08-23 05:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 32,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8315470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JourEtNuit/pseuds/JourEtNuit
Summary: After Mount Weather, a broken Clarke left her people and disappeared into the woods. She found herself in a trikru village, where she spent six months slowly healing, both physically and emotionally - and where she reconnected with Lexa, eventually forgiving her.
Now she's back in Camp Jaha, with new challenges to face. Tensions rise as the Arkers struggle to survive and adapt to their life on the ground, and while Clarke is happy to live with her friends again, it also means reopening old wounds, and being far away from Lexa. And then, there's the looming threat of the Ice Nation, with rumors of a plot that could destroy both the precarious balance of the coalition, and the Arkers' new alliance with the Commander.
As she navigates political trouble, complicated relationships and her own trauma, Clarke has to figure out what home means - and how to build one for herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to "please teach me gently how to breathe", so if you haven't read that one you might get a bit confused.
> 
> The title is inspired by a line in one of Margaret Atwood's poems.

On her very first night back in Camp Jaha, Clarke runs away again.

She tries to sleep, she really does, lying still on her slim mattress in the narrow room she's sharing with her mom, Abby's soft breathing the only sound troubling the quiet. The metal walls surrounding her are cold to the touch and her heart beats too fast, like a frantic bird trapped in her chest. She's _inside_ the Ark for the first time in what feels like forever, and its massive, impersonal presence is as heavy as an iron anchor placed right upon her ribcage, forcing the air out of her lungs.

Clarke closes her eyes, grits her teeth, and wills the memories away, desperate, to no avail. Against her eyelids she sees her father, his warm smile as he waltzed with Abby inside their quarters in Alpha Station, his shocked expression when endless space swallowed him to his death.

Tears well up in her eyes, and Clarke hides her face in the crook of her elbow as they start falling down her cheeks, muffling the sound to not wake her mother, trying to block the image of her father's execution. But all it does is reminding her of her cell in the Sky Box, where she spent one whole year silently crying away her grief and loneliness, and it's like she never left, like she's back just where she started almost two years ago - truly, utterly alone and forgotten, a small expendable part lost in the anonymous machinery of the Ark.

So she gets out of bed, and runs.

 

 

She doesn't get very far, this time. She's already on the inside of the high metal fence encircling Camp Jaha, and there is no way the guards on duty would let her out in the middle of the night, barely five hours after her return.

Sometimes being kept safe feels eerily like being kept prisoner, doesn't it.

Still, when she steps out of Alpha's station entryway, the night's gentle breeze drying her tears, the empty courtyard lit a lovely shade of blue by the familiar moon, relief washes over her instantly. She looks around her and finds what she was looking for - one of the rudimentary watchtowers left empty for the night. It takes her only a minute to climb up the steel ladder and then she's standing on the elevated wooden platform, facing away from Camp Jaha.

From up there, the view is magnificent - the nearby woods on her left bathed in dark gray hues, the horizon far and full of promises. Clarke lets her eyes wander toward the fields of corn and vegetables to her right - Camp Jaha's most valuable possession, she's gathered already, guarded day and night against wildlife and marauders alike. The watchtower on that side of the fence is clearly manned, the harsh light of an electrical torch rolling across the fields with mechanical regularity.

She settles her gaze on the dirt road leading to the front gate, and something twists painfully in her chest, like a sharp shard of bone poking into her flesh. This is where she said goodbye to Lexa, where they both got down from their horse and looked at each other and, under too many watchful eyes, dared only to shake hands, despite Clarke's body thrumming with the need to hold Lexa close, one last time.

The memory of it is etched deeply in Clarke's skin, the way Lexa's fingers tightened around her forearm, the flutter of Lexa's pulse on the inside of her wrist, the smell of horse and sweat and woodfire, the weight of Lexa's eyes on her.

Lost in heartache as she is, Clarke doesn't immediately realize that she isn't alone anymore, and she has to suppress a surprised gasp when she notices the man standing beside her.

Lincoln is not looking at her, and he doesn't say a word. He's leaning against the sturdy wooden railing, his eyes set on the forest. His face, usually so stoic, is somber with a deep, restless sort of longing, the sort Clarke knows is probably showing in her own eyes.

And so she turns her head back to face the horizon, grateful for the comfort of a camaraderie she didn't expect to find here, and she fights the urge to leave Camp Jaha behind for a second time with the help of Lincoln's quiet presence at her side, both of them yearning for something they chose to give up, until dawn releases them from their wistful watch.

 

 

The next morning, Clarke tells her mom she won't be rooming with her in the fallen Ark anymore. She doesn't have to explain herself – doesn't even have to give a single justification for her decision. Abby's eyes are pained when she reaches to touch Clarke's cheek, hesitantly, carefully, and says _of course, Clarke_.

Clarke feels a bit like a wounded animal everyone is afraid of scaring away, a small broken thing you treat with exaggerated caution and gentleness, and well. Maybe she should be offended, but mostly, she's glad she doesn't have to argue with her mom.

She sets up her tent next to Lincoln's, on the west side of Camp Jaha, closest to the forest, and he helps her dig the metal poles in the hard-pressed dirt, without a word. He does smile, though, his tired eyes full of understanding.

The rest of her first morning in Camp Jaha is a long succession of people welcoming her back. No one but Abby got to see her last night - she was whisked away to the med bay and then brought to her mom's room when it was time to sleep - so it's no wonder they're all excited.

Clarke is excited too. More than excited, she's _ecstatic_ , high on the sheer joy of so many long awaited reunions – she's been away for so long, and she's missed her friends dearly.

The first to come is Bellamy, of course, and she has to blink away delighted tears when he engulfs her in a bear hug, her nose pressed against the rough material of his old guard jacket. He feels familiar, he _smells_ familiar, even with his hair cleaner than it's ever been on the ground, and his face clean-shaved.

“It's good to have you back, Clarke”, he says with a smile when they separate, his hands lingering on her shoulders like he's afraid she's about to dissolve into thin air.

“It's good to be back”, she agrees, before Raven steps in between them and she's swept in another fierce hug.

Raven's embrace is bone-crushing, but her fingers tremble against Clarke's back.

“Raven”, Clarke starts, and stops, the words stuck in her throat.

“Long time no see, uh?”, Raven says, a bit too bright, before letting go of Clarke and stepping aside, hands nervously stuffed in her red jacket's pockets.

Clarke's eyes linger on Raven's face, falling briefly to her leg brace, then back to her shiny eyes.

“Raven”, she tries again, but Monty is suddenly in front of her, launching himself into her arms, squeezing with evident relief, and then it's Harper, and Miller, and Monroe, and every delinquent is crowding her, eager to touch her, like they need physical proof that she really _is_ back, and Raven is gone before she has time to say anything else.

 

 

The thing is, Clarke finds out, life doesn't just _pause_ while you're away - much like trees, people don't stop growing when out of sight. Everything is always changing, whether you're here to witness it or not.

Coming back, then, means accepting the necessary lesson that she is not indispensable. It's quite a relief, for Clarke to understand that her people don't actually _need_ her to survive, that they've managed to carry on just fine on their own.

And yet, what a bitter thing too, to find yourself estranged from your own people. They've all gone through so much transformation _without_ her - her absence like a wound that hurt but didn't prevent the growth of new skin - and now that Clarke is back, there's only a scar where her place used to be.

The first thing she notices, of course, is Octavia's absence.

“She's been off with Indra since this winter, staying in Polis at first, and then busy rebuilding TonDC”, Bellamy explains when she asks about his sister's whereabouts later that day, the two of them sitting at a corner table in the crowded canteen. “She's training to be a warrior, for real now. Getting pretty handy with a sword, and all that.”

His eyes are filled with pride, but Clarke doesn't miss the way his shoulders bunch, the tension straining his neck.

“She's doing what she wants, then?”, Clarke says, and Bellamy nods, lips twisting in a lopsided grin she isn't sure how to read.

“She always does.”

Before Clarke can ask any more questions, the waitress – _Gina_ , Bellamy called her _Gina_ when he ordered their drinks earlier - walks up to them and slides two cups of pale ale their way, kissing Bellamy's cheek and ruffling his hair as she goes. And yes, _that_ is definitely another novelty Clarke notices right away.

“So you and Gina...?” Clarke prompts, hesitant.

“Yeah”, Bellamy says, soft eyes following Gina across the room. “Yeah, for a while now.”

He doesn't offer anything else, and Clarke feels a pang of vexation – unfairly so, since it's not like _she's_ volunteering any information about her private life.

They drink in silence for a while, a kind of silence that's not unpleasant, but not quite comfortable either, until Monty and Raven join them, fresh out of their shift at the workshop. Both of them are laughing, covered in oil and grease and sweat, and Bellamy shakes his head disapprovingly.

“You should at least wash your hands before dinner”, he mutters.

Raven rolls her eyes at him, fondly. “Oh, give us a break, Bell. Some of us were actually _working_ today, while you and Clarke just drank the afternoon away. What happened to being a _productive and valuable member of our new society?_ ”

The three of them snigger at what must be an inside joke, and Clarke just looks helplessly at their easy banter, unsure if she should ask for an explanation, feeling vaguely guilty and out of place. And that's another thing she's not used to, walking on eggshells around her friends.

Gina appears near their table, distracting her from that painful line of thought. She seems like a lovely girl, chatting with Monty about his day as she puts down two cups of honey-sweetened tea, smiling at Raven's jokes, laughing at the disastrous state of their work clothes. As soon as Gina is out of earshot though, Raven takes a sip of her tea and addresses the elephant in the room.

“So, Clarke. Feel like telling us where the hell you were hiding all this time?”

Clarke chokes on her drink. _Well, Raven was never one to shy away from the heart of the matter_ , she thinks as Monty kindly pats her back while she coughs out at least half her beer.

“I was staying in a _trikru_ village”, Clarke finally manages to say, wiping her chin with her sleeve.

There's so much to tell, she's not sure where to even start. _They saved my life. They brought me back to myself._ Instead, she jokes, just a bit awkward: “Kind of anti-climatic, I know.”

Raven's deep brown eyes find hers. “We thought you were alone in the woods, freezing your ass off all through winter.”

“Until Lexa told us you were alive and safe, then we were pretty certain she was holding you prisoner somewhere in her Polis dungeon”, Monty adds, only half serious.

At Lexa's name, Clarke's heart lurches. What she wouldn't give to have Lexa with her right now, guiding her through this bittersweet conversation. She forces herself to smile.

“Nothing so dramatic, sorry. The Commander only learned where I was by accident, and I asked her not to tell anyone. I... I wasn't ready yet.”

There's a pause after that, and they all look at her, clearly expecting something more, a full-fledged tale, an explanation, an apology maybe - Clarke has no idea, and she's all out of words.

“Well”, Raven says at last, breaking the silence, raising her glass, “here's to the prodigal daughter's return, then! Cheers.”

They clink their cups together, and when Clarke drinks the last of her beer, it sits heavily in her stomach.

 

 

The next day, Chancellor Marcus Kane sends for Clarke.

“Please, have a seat”, he tells her, gesturing toward the oval metallic table in the council room.

Clarke does as she's told. The walls are covered in maps and sketches of the region, schedules, roll calls, lists of various supplies, a calendar. Two whiteboards are displaying what she guesses are the electrical power and water distribution systems of Camp Jaha. Kane clears his throat, and she turns her attention back to the man sitting in front of her.

“Clarke, I wanted to formally welcome you back in the name of all of us survivors of the Ark.”

He pauses, and rests both elbows on the table, fingers linked like he's praying. He looks softer than the strict officer she remembers from space, softer even than the desperate man she met again on the ground; his beard is trimmed, brown with patches of white-grey, his hair longer, his eyes kinder. Still, Clarke can't say she'll ever fully trust one of the men who floated her father, so she only gives him a neutral nod in response, waiting to see where this is going.

He considers her, props his chin on his joined hands. “What you've accomplished on the ground is nothing short of a miracle, Clarke. You saved the Hundred, and you saved us all from Mount Weather. I know, I know,” he adds, in a placating tone, when she opens her mouth, “you weren't alone. Your friends have done a great deal of saving, too.”

Kane smiles. “And they've been thanked for their sacrifices and outstanding work. As you may be aware, Mr Blake is sitting at this very table as an elected member of our council. Miss Reyes and Mr Green have both been promoted to the board of our Mechanics and Engineering department. Nathan Miller and Zoe Monroe have enlisted in our guard unit, after successfully passing the examination. These are just a few examples, but as you can see, we've tried our best to make sure everyone was given a chance to maximize their true potential. This is not the Ark anymore.”

Raven's mocking words echo in Clarke's ears, _what happened to being a productive and valuable member of our new society?_

“I'm sure they're all very grateful”, she says diplomatically.

“And we are grateful for what you did for our people”, Kane answers without missing a beat. “Which is why I would like to offer you a seat on the council.”

Clarke blinks. “You... what?”

“You've more than earned it, Clarke. You've proven yourself every bit the leader we all hoped you would become someday. It seems only fitting to have your abilities recognized in an official capacity.”

“But I made so many mistakes!” Clarke protests, anxiety pooling in her stomach. “So many people are dead because of me.”

“And so many are alive because of you”, Kane counters gently.

“I thought council members were supposed to be elected...”, Clarke tries, weakly.

“You're absolutely right, which is why once you've accepted the offer, I will set up a vote to be held as soon as possible. I haven't the slightest doubt that our people will weight positively on this matter, Clarke.”

Clarke bites her tongue, out of excuses. She swallows, hard, fighting against nausea.

“No”, she says, voice a bit too soft for her liking. Kane's smile falters.

“No”, she repeats, more confident. “I won't do it. I'm done being in charge, and I don't want to be a part of the institution responsible for my father's death.”

She breathes out and goes on, kinder now. “Thank you for the offer, I'm honored that you think so highly of me. But I just can't accept it.”

Kane crosses his arms and leans back against his chair. “Very well. It is your choice, and I will respect it. If you change your mind, though, you know where to find me.”

Clarke nods and takes this as the dismissal it is, hurrying out of the room and all the way to the courtyard. Outside, the midday sun is hot on her skin, the air sticky with humidity, and Bellamy is standing near the doorway, waiting for her.

“Welcome to the council”, he says, taking a few steps towards her when she stops right in her tracks.

Clarke shakes her head. “I told him no.”

It takes a few seconds to sink in, then Bellamy's face falls. “Clarke”, he says, and already there's pleading in his voice, and her throat constricts. “Why? You know this is where you belong.”

“Not anymore”, she replies. The bright sun makes her squint, and it's hard to look him in the eyes.

Bellamy crosses his arms against his chest, just like Kane did. Except unlike Kane, she detects a hint of anger in the creased lines of his forehead, and it makes the anxiety souring her stomach come back full force.

“The last of the Hundred, our _friends,_ they need us in that council, Clarke. We're living with the same people who sent us down here to _die_. They need you and me both on the inside, to protect them, to...”

Clarke interrupts him with a snort. “Don't tell me _you_ , of all people, believe you can change things from the inside? You know your history, don't you? That never happens.”

He glares at her. “When you left, you told me to take care of them for you. That's exactly what I've been doing in the council. But there are things you do better than me, and debating for hours with the likes of Kane and your mother is one of them.”

“Bellamy, you're perfectly capable...”, she starts.

“I know I am”, he cuts in, impatient. “You're still better at it, just like there's stuff I do better than you. I'm not arguing out of low self-esteem, Clarke. I took care of all of them for you, the best I could, but now you're back, and you should take care of them too. Where you're most needed, which is inside this goddamn council.”

Clarke bites her lower lip, stubborn, unsure how to make him understand. “I can't do it, Bellamy. I just can't.”

There's a silence and he sighs, eyes downcast now, admitting defeat. “Why not?”

“It's not who I am anymore. As for what our friends need, I think I'll be of more use doing something I was actually trained for. I know the med bay is always looking for more staff.”

He gives her one last look, thoughtful eyes searching hers, and then he walks away, without another word, leaving her alone in the yard. Despite the heat, Clarke shudders.

 

 

That night, after dinner, when Clarke announces she wants to start working with her again, Abby's face _lights up_ and her joy is so genuine, so transparent, it makes Clarke's chest bubble with something bright and tender and soothing.

“It will be like old times!” Abby jokes, a bit tearfully, as she pulls Clarke into a hug.

Clarke stays quiet, just closes her eyes and hugs her back. Abby's hand is warm and gentle on her cheek, and for a moment she allows herself to be a child again, small and safely tucked in her mother's arms.

There are only three other people working in Camp Jaha's medical facility – her mom, Jackson, and, to Clarke's surprise, Harper. The girl is sitting at a desk in the waiting room, studying the weekly schedule, when Clarke comes through the door the next morning.

“Hey”, Clarke says, as she slips out of her jacket and into a clean white cotton blouse. “You work here?”

“Yep”, Harper replies, without looking up.

“I thought you'd want to join the guards or something”, Clarke says, frowning. “You were pretty good with a gun.”

At that Harper raises her head, and fixes Clarke with a blank stare. “Chronic pain”, she offers, finally. “From when those Mount Weather bastards drilled into me for days. Nobody wants a guard who can't stay on her feet for more than three hours.”

Clarke's ribs tighten around her heart. “I'm sorry”, she says softly.

“Don't be, you're the one who got us out of there. Well, most of us. And this job ain't too bad... at least I'm not working in the fields.”

Harper goes back to her schedule, and Clarke makes her way into the sick bay, pushing sorrow out of her mind. There's nothing to be done about the past, but she's here now, and she has the means to help people, and that will have to be enough.

The disheartening truth, though, is that there isn't much they _can_ do at the moment. After a harsh winter, where close quarters, insufficient food and lack of foresight meant illnesses spread faster than they ever did in space, Camp Jaha is running low on supplies, including medical ones. The recently assembled chemistry research team is locked in their lab day and night to produce the amount of medication needed, and yet they still barely manage to deliver the indispensable.

“It's so bad, your mom hasn't been taking her pain meds for weeks now. She's saving them for the patients”, Jackson whispers to her in confidence, as they change bed sheets together. Clarke glances at her mother, noticing the rigidity in her hips as she walks past them, her furrowed brow.

“I've tried to tell her it's a bad idea, but she doesn't listen to me”, Jackson adds, evidently worried. “Maybe you could...”

“I'll see what I can do”, Clarke says, “but I don't think she'll listen to me either. Stubbornness kinda runs in the family.”

Jackson smiles at that, and gives her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “That it does.”

As she predicted, Abby just waves her concerns off, and Clarke and Jackson have to resign themselves to making her drink white willow bark tea twice a day. With their depleted stock of medication, the Arkers have had to make do with their surrounding flora – and what their botanical knowledge didn't cover, Lincoln was more than happy to teach them.

On her second day of work, Clarke, eager to resume an activity she's grown fond of during her time as a _trikru_ healer, announces that she's going out to look for medicinal herbs in the woods nearby. To her dismay, she's told to stay put, and that they already have people for that – _foragers_ , they're called, apparently – a handful of scientists who only leave Camp Jaha with a heavily armed escort.

“But I used to do it on my own all the time!”, Clarke complains. “I know the area's vegetation better than anyone who isn't Lincoln!”

“Your place is right here in the med bay, where you have plenty of work as it is”, Abby retorts, in a no-nonsense tone. “Learning to delegate is a good thing, honey”, she adds, voice softer, when Clarke pouts.

 _My place is right here_ , Clarke thinks later, after the night has fallen, stripping down to her underwear and lying half naked on her straw mattress. The air is so hot inside her tent, sweat is dampening her hair, blond curls sticking to her forehead, her temples, the nape of her neck. She repeats the sentence in her head, over and over and over like a dog gnawing at a bone to suck the marrow out of it, until it cracks under her teeth and she can't put the fragments back together to make it sound true anymore.

She dreams of Aquia that night, for the first time since she left the village. She wakes up aching for the woman who welcomed her, and saved her, and made her feel more at home in a small _trikru_ village than she's ever felt since she landed on earth.

 

 

“What about Mount Weather? They had plenty of medical resources, why not just go retrieve them?”, Clarke asks her mother one evening, as they wait for the foragers to return with their haul of medicinal plants.

“Off-limits”, Abby answers. “The Commander made it very clear during our negotiations with the clans in Polis. No one is to come within a hundred feet of any of the Mountain's entrances, upon penalty of death.”

She grimaces. “She was pretty graphic in her description of that last part.”

Clarke frowns. “Did you explain to her how much useful stuff is in there? I mean, I get why Grounders would want Mount Weather condemned, but it just seems like such a waste... I'm sure Lexa could be convinced of raiding the place before closing it off for all eternity.”

Abby looks at her, one eyebrow raised. “Well, none of us thought it wise to question a direct order from the Commander right there in her throne room, but I'm sure if _you_ bring the matter up to her she'll be more inclined to listen...”

Clarke averts her eyes and pretends to read over the timetable for the week's night shifts, cheekbones tinged rosy pink. Her mother, thankfully, doesn't comment any further.

 

 

Apart from the medical team, the person Clarke sees the most is Raven. She should have expected it, really, given what her friend has been through since she landed her miraculous pod on the ground.

Raven comes at least three times a week to the med bay – once for her weekly prescription of pain medication, twice for physical therapy. And that's counting without the various minor work incidents that require medical attention, and the odd _bad leg day,_ as Raven calls it _._

All in all, Raven is around Clarke a lot, and nothing about it is _easy_. At first, Clarke mostly observes while Abby demonstrates how to massage Raven's leg, hips, back, how to check for further nerve damage, or suspicious swelling, how to _touch_ Raven in the least painful way possible. And Clarke knows she's meant to pay attention to the technical aspect of all this, but what she sees instead is her mother and Raven acting with so much familiarity and affection with each other, it's as if she wasn't even there.

The sudden jealousy simmering low in her gut is unexpected – unheard of, actually, with the Ark's strict one child rule – and at first Clarke is convinced she's fallen ill, before she realizes what's happening.

Oh, she's not proud of it. She knows she should be happy Abby and Raven have such a good relationship, since they're forced to see each other so often. But she can't help feeling _replaced_ , somehow, and Raven's new friendship with Gina makes the matter even worse.

Gina comes almost every time Raven has an appointment, and holds her hand through difficult sessions, or keeps her company in the waiting room, or gently chides her when Raven tries to get out of physical therapy. They clearly are very close – a realization that settles heavily, and a bit bitterly, in Clarke's chest.

Once Abby is satisfied with her training, Clarke takes care of roughly half of Raven's sessions, and things get a bit easier. For one, they start talking again, in earnest, first a few jokes here and there, casual comments about the weather or the food, and finally more in depth conversations about Camp Jaha. Raven tells her how they've been scrounging for parts since Mount Weather, searching through Factory Station's crash site, exploring bunkers and ruins nearby.

“We're scavengers, now”, Raven says one day, bitterly, as Clarke digs her fingers into the base of her spine, deep enough to massage the hurt tissue. “There's no place for pride in survival.”

She grunts when Clarke's hands find a sensitive spot. “And you know the worst part? It's barely enough to keep us alive and running. Everyday I go to work expecting this place to crumble, and everyday when it doesn't, it feels like I'm just pushing away the inevitable.”

“We're all doing our best”, Clarke hums, trying to be comforting.

Raven sighs. “We need permanent solutions and more space, is what we need, not band-aids and bits of scrap metal.”

As much as Clarke enjoys her conversations with Raven, though, there is something a bit _off_ , something a bit strained, about them still. Sometimes she thinks she can _feel_ the ghost of Finn, between them, an invisible yet insurmountable force keeping them apart.

 

 

Monty is also a regular patient, and the more Clarke looks at him, the less she recognizes the quiet but cheerful teenager she met about nine months ago. His eyes are weary, his shoulders slump ; he still smiles and laughs, of course, but there's a sharp edge to his joy now, something hard and brittle hidden underneath.

He suffers from insomnia, and terrible headaches that leave him curled up on one of the sickbeds, jaw locked and eyes tightly shut.

“PTSD”, Abby tells her the first day it happens, laconic, something sad creeping in her voice, as if Clarke hadn't already guessed.

“You know he lost his parents, right?”, Harper whispers, after Monty leaves. “According to Sinclair's calculations, Farm Station fell way up north, right into Ice Nation territory. Bellamy asked around when they went to Polis for the negotiations, and the _Trikru_ said we shouldn't hope for any survivors.”

She pauses, and looks away from Clarke. “I mean, my dad was from Factory Station, he died in the crash. And he was an asshole but it still hurt to lose him, you know? But Monty's parents... they were different, they loved him so much. I can't imagine...”

“I can”, Clarke says, and both of them stay quiet after that, alone in the empty waiting room, grieving for their own loss and for their friend's.

From then on, Clarke makes it a rule to sit with Monty every time she's on duty when he comes in. Sometimes his pain is too intense, blinding, and there is nothing to do but hold his hand, and wipe the sweat off his brow. Often they talk, though, when he comes to them at night because he can't sleep, or when his migraine is milder, less incapacitating. Clarke describes her life in the village, the people who welcomed her, all the food and drinks she tried for the first time, the new skills she learned. He tells her about the delinquents, sharing anecdotes and gossip, who's been caught making out in a supply closet – Monroe and some Factory Station girl named Mel -, who's fighting with who, who's not happy about their work assignment, the latest theory on where the hell Murphy disappeared and what he might be up to.

Clarke learns a lot about Camp Jaha, in those conversations with Monty ; how harsh winter was on all of them, how hungry and desperate they felt ; how the survivors of the Hundred grew restless and disillusioned as they were told to fall in line and follow directives, after tasting freedom for two whole months. Monty recounts the arrival of spring too, and everyone's sudden obsession with farming – he recites Kane's speeches word for word, about plans to gather and stock food in preparation for the next winter, about everybody _doing their part for the survival of all._

They never bring up what happened in Mount Weather, in the control room – not that it doesn't cross Clarke's mind, but she figures this conversation needs to happen on Monty's terms. And maybe, deep down, she's grateful for the delay, maybe she's not quite ready to open that can of worms either.

And then, of course, they never talk about Jasper.

Jasper has been avoiding Clarke, and the first time she sees him again, she's been back almost three weeks already, and he's drunk out of his mind.

Miller and Monty drag him into the med bay, yelling incoherently, reeking of vomit, knuckles cracked open. Clarke stands still, shocked. Jasper turns his head, their eyes meet – and the sheer _disgust_ she finds in his makes her take a step back against her will.

Jasper spits in her face before Miller and Monty can do anything to stop him.

“Not her”, he hisses. “Get her out of here”.

“Jasper...”, Monty tries, pleading.

“Get her out! Get her out of my sight or I swear I'm gonna punch her too!”, Jasper yells, and that's when Clarke notices Monty's swollen eye, eyelid half-shut, skin already darkening.

She's paralyzed, feet stuck to the floor, unable to breathe. Jasper is still screaming, but she can't really hear his words. Her world narrows down to the way his mouth contorts with rage and loathing, the pained look on Monty's face, the low drum of her own heart beating too fast in her ears.

“Clarke!”, Abby snaps, and that breaks the spell. Clarke blinks, and then turns around and gets out, leaving her mother to deal with this mess.

Later, she examines Monty's eye, prodding gently at the bruise. Her fingers shake when they apply salve on his skin, and his eyes are watery. Neither of them say anything about Jasper.

 

 

Weeks pass, and Clarke settles back in the ebb and flow of Camp Jaha's routine, and it's – good. Not perfect, exactly – some awkwardness lingers, some subjects are kept out of conversations, she still wakes up from nightmares, sometimes – but Clarke pushes these things to the back of her mind, and carries on. She's living with her people again, and slowly, she regains a sense of familiarity, of normalcy, and it feels _good_.

It feels good, to sit with her friends at dinner and listen to them talk about their day. No catastrophe to handle, no recent death to mourn, no imminent disaster to prevent. Instead, Miller complains about the food – granted, he has a point, and Clarke does miss Mac and Willow's spicy cuisine after a whole month of bland meals – and some nights, Monty spikes the herbal tea with his famous moonshine, and what is left of the delinquents partake in almost scarily _banal_ fun.

 _It's amazing how a few simple things can make you feel so young,_ Clarke thinks, a cup of alcohol in hand, sweat dripping down her temples, as she sways to the music coming from an old sound system, courtesy of Raven. It's on nights like these that she misses Wells the most, when she feels fifteen again, sneaking out to a not-so-official party, getting drunk without a care in the world.

Around her, teenagers and young adults drink and laugh, dance and sing and make out, while Bellamy keeps an eye on everyone, Gina settled comfortably on his lap. She hears snippets of conversations here and there, “ _Work was floating exhausting today, I hate planting corn_ ” and “ _Do you think he likes me?_ ” and “ _I'm so hot right now, I almost miss winter_ ” and “ _Ugh, I can't believe we're out of leather, again! I need new shoes so bad_ ”.

It feels good, to be a part of something so ordinary.

And it's not just the partying: Clarke likes her job, too, and most of all, she loves _learning_. Abby, for all her faults, has always been a great teacher, and she's especially invested in perfecting Clarke's education after sending her to the ground so unprepared. Most of the Ark's documentation and archives are still accessible, which means Clarke spends countless hours reading and memorizing and practicing on poor Jackson.

She's found her place, carved a small space in Camp Jaha where she belongs, and it feels _good_.

 

 

It's a full month before she sees Lexa again.

Clarke is studying anatomy in her mom's office, the late afternoon sun bathing the room in warm orange, when she hears a commotion outside - people yelling and the low rattle of the metal gates opening. She drops her tablet on the desk and runs, adrenaline shooting up her spinal cord, seized with the terrible fear that someone she loves got hurt again, that they are under attack again, memories of wartime and survival rushing back to her.

But when she's finally through the small crowd, what she sees is Lexa, standing alone and weaponless between the open gates. Behind her, a small group of warriors is waiting, still mounted on their horses. Lexa's face is free of war paint and she's wearing a loose sleeveless tunic that dips a little on her chest and falls down to mid-thigh, hiding the top of her riding pants – and for a few seconds, Clarke can't look away from Lexa's bare arms, tanned skin and tattoos on display.

“Commander”, Abby says from behind her before Clarke regains her ability to speak. “What brings you here?”

Her tone is polite, not unfriendly, but not warm either – there's caution there, edging on distrust.

“Abby Griffin”, Lexa acknowledges, and then she turns her head slightly. “Clarke.”

Their eyes meet and Clarke feels a pull in her chest, like her heart is trying to break free. She takes a shaky breath, while Lexa answers Abby's question.

“I'm traveling away from Polis to visit some of the western clans, and found Camp Jaha on my way. As it is dusk already, hospitality for the night for me and my warriors would be greatly appreciated.”

There's a rumble of unease, and Clarke guesses that Lexa hasn't spent a lot of time here, that this is unusual and the Arkers aren't sure how to feel about the presence of Grounders inside Camp Jaha. Suddenly, Lexa's casual appearance makes a lot more sense: she doesn't look like a threat, just like a tired girl who had a long day.

“It would be our pleasure, Commander”, a voice booms suddenly. Clarke spots Kane making his way through the crowd.

His smile is genuine when he greets Lexa, extending his hand. “I would like to invite you all to share our evening meal, first, and then you'll be able to set up your tents inside our fence for the night.”

“Thank you, Chancellor”, Lexa says, grasping his forearm. She gives a few orders in quick _trigedasleng_ to her silent companions, and they all follow Kane towards the canteen.

Clarke looks at her mother, pleading ; she's supposed to be on call for the night. Abby sighs, and crosses her arms. “Go”, she says, “you can work tomorrow night instead.”

Clarke, grateful, presses a kiss to her mother's cheek, before hurrying to the canteen for dinner. The room is packed with curious Arkers, but Clarke manages to find a seat not too far from Kane's table. Lexa is seated at his right, and next to her is Sinclair, who looks like the imposing _trikru_ warrior seating beside him just threatened his life.

Bellamy and Lincoln are both nowhere to be seen, but she spots Raven and Miller whispering to each other near the bar counter. Gina is working tonight, and her smile is visibly nervous when she brings a platter of food to Kane and Lexa's table. Lexa thanks her with a nod, eyes scanning the crowd. When she finally finds Clarke, she gives her a quizzical look, clearly expecting Clarke to be seated with the important people – but Clarke shakes her head, and Lexa turns her attention back to her companions, impassible.

Seeing Lexa in the canteen is _weird_. She's perfectly at ease, calm and collected, talking with Kane and Sinclair, eating deliberately slowly, even indulging in a cup of ale, all the while subtly keeping an eye on her warriors disseminated in the crowd. Clarke knows she's staring but she can't help it – she's like a dried up flower in the dead of summer, and Lexa is the long-awaited rain. Just the sight of her fills a hole in her chest she wasn't quite aware was there.

Sight isn't enough, though, and as soon as Lexa's plate is empty, Clarke, who barely touched her own food, makes her way to the Chancellor's table.

“Commander”, she says, with a respectful little bow.

Lexa's lips twitch like she's holding back a smile. “Clarke.”

Clarke grins and addresses Kane. “Chancellor, I was thinking maybe the Commander would like a tour of the camp before nightfall. What better way to honor our alliance, and keep on building trust between our people, than to have the two of us seen together? I would be happy to guide her through some of our new facilities.”

Kane returns her smile. “What a wonderful idea. Commander, what do you say? We've expanded quite a lot since last fall, and I would love to hear your thoughts on some of our more recent improvements.”

Lexa cocks her head and finishes her drink, locking eyes with Clarke. “Thank you, Clarke. It would be my pleasure to visit your home.”

When she rises, the warrior next to Sinclair looks like he wants to get up too, but she stops him with a single hand gesture. “There is no need to accompany me, Moran. The Sky People are our allies and our friends, and we have no reason to fear for my safety inside their camp.”

Moran sits back with a groan, and sends Kane a glare that speaks of some doubts regarding that statement. Still, he obeys, and Lexa alone follows Clarke out of the canteen.

They walk the length of the hallway in silence, side by side, so close that the back of their hands are touching every now and then. Everybody else is eating dinner – minus the few unlucky people who could not get out of work for the occasion – and the inside of the Ark is eerily quiet. The only sound is the soft thud of their feet on the metallic floor, though Clarke is pretty sure Lexa can hear the frenzied beating of her heart. They haven't been alone together in a month, and it seems both an enormous amount of time, and as insignificant as the blink of an eye.

They finally reach a partially opened door, and Clarke leads the way into the deserted engineering workshop, checking that nobody is in there before hurriedly slamming the door shut. Lexa stands in the middle of the huge cluttered room, letting curious eyes roam over the machines and various half-finished projects on display – and Clarke watches her taking everything in, watches the artificial lights paint blue shadows on Lexa's bare throat. At last, Lexa turns around to face her, and her eyes are soft and vulnerable, and Clarke just can't wait for another goddamn second.

She throws her arms around Lexa's waist and pulls her into a hug. One of Lexa's hands finds the curve of Clarke's lower back, the other is gently cradling the back of her neck. She rests her chin on the top of Clarke's head and holds her tight yet delicately, like a flower she's afraid to crush. Clarke closes her eyes, her lips brushing Lexa's bare collarbone, and she feels at home for the first time in a month.

They stay locked in their embrace for a long time, long enough that Clarke starts to sway a little on her feet, and Lexa presses a soft kiss to her forehead before releasing her.

“I've missed you so much, you have no idea”, Clarke says, her words slurred as if she'd been drinking.

“Believe me, I do”, Lexa replies, voice barely above a whisper, looking at Clarke like she can't quite believe she's real. She shakes her head, and her eyes lose some of their dazed quality.

“You weren't seated with the other leaders of your people”, she remarks.

“Great observation skills, Commander”, Clarke teases, with no real bite. “This isn't who I am anymore”, she adds with a sigh when Lexa just waits for her to say more, “that much hasn't changed.”

Lexa stares at her, skeptical, but she must know Clarke is not in the mood to discuss this further, because instead of arguing she raises one eyebrow, playful.

“I believe I've been promised a tour of Camp Jaha?”

Clarke chuckles, relieved, and reaches to take Lexa's hand in hers. “Prepare to be amazed, Commander. I plan on being _very_ thorough.”

She winks and Lexa dips her head to try and hide her smile, and it's the loveliest thing Clarke has ever seen.

After the kitchens, the sleeping quarters, the chemistry lab, and the med bay – where, thankfully, they don't run into Clarke's mother -, Clarke takes them outside, to the small herb garden situated north of the courtyard, and then to the building of concrete and scrap metal that stands farthest away from the fallen Ark station.

“This is our shower facility”, Clarke says as she opens the door to reveal a narrow room furnished with a long middle bench, and multiple baskets filled with towels and clean clothes. Both lateral walls fit twenty or so doors, leading to individual stalls. “It's Sinclair's pride and joy: the showers are solar-heated, and consume absolutely no energy whatsoever.”

Lexa wordlessly walks to one cubicle and opens the door. “This is how you bathe?”, she asks Clarke, tone full of wonder. “Show me how it works.”

Clarke smiles, amused by Lexa's interest in something so mundane, and joins her, closing the door behind them. She pushes the shower curtain to the side, revealing the shower head, and turns the handle up. Water starts pouring steadily, and Lexa's mouth opens wide.

“How?”, she says, slipping a hand under the stream as if to make sure she isn't hallucinating.

Half of Clarke finds her awestruck expression adorable and the other less charitable half wants to tease Lexa mercilessly, but before she can settle on a reaction, Lexa does something that makes _her_ mouth open wide.

She undresses.

And it isn't the first time Clarke has seen her naked – in fact, it's not even the tenth time, or the fifteenth. But it _has_ been a month, and Clarke gasps and feels warmth spreading on her cheeks and down her neck, because Lexa is standing unabashedly bare in front of her, gathering her brown tresses in a messy pile on top of her head, eyes bright and young, and god, what a _beautiful_ sight she is.

Lexa steps under the water and closes her eyes as her lips curve in a delighted smile. “Clarke”, she says, eyelids still shut, “won't you join me?”

Of course Clarke does, pulse going wild in her throat, fingers shaking as they hurriedly dispose of her clothes. The water is warm on her skin, but it's nothing compared to the fire stirring up inside her chest when Lexa opens her eyes again and stares right into hers.

“I've missed you”, Clarke says for the second time that evening, and her cheeks are wet long before the running water touches them.

“I know”, Lexa says. She slides one careful hand up Clarke's arm, to her neck, and gently cups her cheek. “I'm here.”

Clarke leans into her hand and turns her head so she can kiss Lexa's palm. Lexa's breath hitches, her eyes darken, and Clarke wants nothing more than to kiss every inch of her, every square of wet skin, every vein, every bone.

Before she can put her plan to execution, Lexa points to the small wooden case hanging off one lime-washed wall. “Is this the soap you use?”

Clarke nods, mouth too dry to talk. Lexa takes the small plastic bottle and sniffs once, a bit disdainful. “Next time I come, I'll bring you some oils from Polis. They smell much better than this.”

Clarke swallows hard, both at the reminder that Lexa is going to leave in the morning, and at the implication that she plans to come back. Lexa pours a bit of liquid soap in her hand and frowns, and Clarke rolls her eyes, welcoming the distraction from her conflicted feelings.

“Well, sorry our soap isn't up to Polis' standards, but it does the job, and we have neither the resources nor the time to devote to such luxury items.”

She pours some of it for herself, and starts rubbing it on her skin. A few seconds later, Lexa imitates her, still frowning slightly. “It really leaves much to be desired”, she mutters under her breath, and Clarke splashes some water right in her face.

Lexa sends her an offended glare, so obviously Clarke does it again, and then both of them dissolve into helpless giggles.

“Let me wash you hair”, Lexa says, when their laughter quietens.

She waits for Clarke's permission before slathering her head in soap and scrubbing softly. Clarke stays immobile for a minute, but the angle is wrong – they're almost the same height, and Lexa's arms have to bend awkwardly. Clarke, without a second thought, sinks to her knees in front of her.

Lexa makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “Clarke”, she says, uncertain.

“Please”, Clarke says as she presses one side of her face against the jut of Lexa's hipbone, “don't stop.”

Slowly, Lexa's fingers resume their work, massaging Clarke's scalp, threading carefully through the strands of wet blond hair. Clarke closes her eyes, and rests both hands on Lexa's waist.

Time stops, Clarke's heart slows. Everything is still, but for Lexa's hands stroking her hair. The concrete floor is hard under her bare knees, but the warm water streaming endlessly on her face, between her shoulder blades, down her back, is drowning anything that isn't Lexa's gentle touch.

On her knees and naked, lost in the relief of being cared for so tenderly, Clarke has never felt more at peace with her place in the world.

 

 

They have sex that night, in Lexa's tent. It's sweet, and loving, and Clarke gets to kiss her, finally, a deep and hungry sort of kiss that leaves Lexa gasping for air, and Clarke's lips swollen red.

Afterward they lie together on Lexa's bed, the air warm and humid, sticky with sweat yet unable to stop touching each other. Lexa has a leg thrown over Clarke's thighs, her head buried in Clarke's neck. She keeps giving Clarke tiny kisses, ghosting her tired lips over damp salty skin, and now and then she lets her teeth graze Clarke's throat, and Clarke _shivers_.

“I could leave with you”, Clarke whispers in the darkness. “Tomorrow morning, when you go, I could just leave with you, couldn't I?”

Lexa exhales against her neck, and rubs a thumb on Clarke's hip. “This is a bad idea, Clarke. Do not let your thoughts follow this path.”

Clarke knows Lexa is probably right, but she pouts nonetheless. “Don't you want me to come with you? I would be in your tent, every night. We could do anything we want, no sneaking around, just... you and me. Preferably naked.”

“Clarke”, Lexa warns, but she hides her smile into Clarke's collarbone. “You can't. Your people need you...”

“No, they don't.”

At that Lexa finally puts some distance between them, raising herself up on one elbow. She searches Clarke's face, serious, worried. “Are you not happy here?”

Clarke sighs. “No, I am.” She pauses and adds, thoughtful: “Though it would be nice if Camp Jaha wasn't running low on _everything_.”

Lexa hums and sits up, reaching for her waterskin. Clarke trails fingers on Lexa's back while she drinks, following the twirling lines of her tattoo, wishing for her charcoal, wishing for more time.

“Has Kane mentioned anything about trading agreements to you?”, she asks eventually, tracing the bumps of Lexa's spine. “I know previous negotiations only covered commerce between us and _Trikru_ , and Kane seems convinced it's too soon to ask for more, but I was hoping you could maybe facilitate some exchanges with the other clans. We need material for our clothes, clay, salt for food preservation... You're about to visit a couple of them, couldn't you get them to agree to do business with us?”

Lexa turns around and offers her the waterskin, before shaking her head.

“I'm sorry Clarke, but all trade negotiations must happen between the clans' ambassadors, under my supervision. I cannot make any deal in your stead.”

Clarke sets the waterskin aside and gives her an incredulous look. “But it's going to take ages to get everyone on board, and we need those supplies now. Are you sure there's nothing you can do?”

“It would be against our laws.”

“You're the _Commander_!”, Clarke snaps, impatient. Lexa looks at her with just a hint of disapproval, and Clarke blushes.

“You cannot ask me to use my position to favor your people, Clarke.”

“I know, _I know_ , sorry.”

There's a silence, and Lexa shifts until her back is leaning against the short headboard. Clarke rolls to her side and faces her, rubbing her fingertips on the back of Lexa's hand in a wordless apology.

“What about Mount Weather? Mom told me you've forbidden all access to the mountain, but you don't even know what's inside. If you just allowed us to...”

“No.”

Lexa's tone is firm, categorical, and she levels Clarke with a stern look. Clarke bites her lower lip, frustrated. “At least hear me out.”

“This is not up for debate”, Lexa says. The way her jaw clenches tells Clarke this is a lost battle.

“Fine”, she concedes, secretly determined to revisit that particular point later. “I see you're not in the mood for compromise tonight.”

“Why should I be?”, Lexa retorts, sharply, before adding in a softer tone, “Sky Crew isn't part of my coalition, Clarke. We are allies, that is all. I won't bend our traditions to accommodate your needs.”

Clarke frowns, but Lexa reaches out and tucks a wild lock of hair behind her ear, tenderly. “But I do care about your people. Let me think about it, alright?”

“Alright”, Clarke says, with a sigh. “I guess I'll take what I can get for now.”

Lexa's lips curve into a smirk. “For someone so adamant that she's no leader, you have a lot of strong opinions about all of this.”

“Shut up.”

Lexa chuckles, and then turns serious again. “Since we are talking about political matters, I want to ask you something. Are you aware of any contact between Sky Crew and the Ice Nation? Has the Queen sent any messenger to your Chancellor since this winter?”

Clarke considers her, curious. “No. Why do you ask?”

Lexa purses her lips, eyes downcast, and Clarke gives her left shoulder an exasperated little shove.

“ _Lexa_. Why? Should I be worried?”

“No, I don't think so, not yet. There have been rumors of a possible conflict between your people and _Azgeda_. I wanted to see for myself if it was true, but it doesn't appear to be the case.”

Clarke narrows her eyes. “Is that why you stopped by Camp Jaha on your way from Polis? To check if we've been seduced by the Ice Queen?”

Lexa's eyes give nothing away, but Clarke huffs. “And here I thought you wanted to see me.”

“You know I did.”

“Yes, _or_ you just got all paranoid that the Queen was going to hurt you _again_ , and...”

“Clarke”, Lexa interrupts her. She keeps her voice flat, but her eyes are wide and almost pleading. “Can we talk about something else?”

Clarke's heart throbs, suddenly, and she's tired of arguing, tired of discussing politics ; she rises to her knees on the bed and kisses Lexa's sadness off her lips. “We don't have to talk at all.”

 

 

Clarke wakes up to the feeling of Lexa's fingers drawing lazy patterns on her naked back, gliding over the curve of her ass and down to the back of her thighs, and then up again, in a soothing, peaceful rhythm. It's not even dawn yet – the birds are quiet, the tent is still dark but for a few candles perched on a side table.

She sighs contentedly, enjoying the attention, and burrows her face further into the pillow, unwilling to get up just yet. Lexa keeps touching her, gentle, as she speaks.

“Clarke, it's time. My warriors and I leave at dawn, and I will be meeting Marcus Kane by the gates before we do. Unless you want your people to know you spent the night with me, you should go now, while everyone is still asleep.”

“I don't want to leave you. Not yet”, Clarke mumbles in the pillow, whiny, voice still sleep-rough.

“Clarke. I know you want to be smart about this.”

“Not yet. Five more minutes.”

“ _Clarke_.” This time, Lexa stresses her point with a firm little tap on Clarke's ass. Clarke groans in response, but it does the trick and she finally opens her eyes and sits up, yawning and disgruntled.

Lexa is already dressed in dark leather pants and a loose cotton shirt, her hair gathered in one thick braid, feet tucked in worn-looking boots, dagger strapped to her thigh. The sight of her, all travel-ready, dispels the last of the sleep-fog clouding Clarke's mind.

“I have to go”, she says, urgently, scrambling off the bed to her clothes scattered on the floor.

“I know”, Lexa mutters, but her tone is more fondness than exasperation.

Once she's dressed, Clarke walks up to Lexa, who's still sitting on one end of the bed watching her, and nudges her knees apart to slip in between her legs. “Good morning”, she murmurs against her lips, hands rising to cup her cheeks. Lexa is warm and soft and pliant when Clarke kisses her – her mouth opens for Clarke's tongue without prompting, and she whimpers quietly when Clarke nips at her lower lip. The sound stirs up something strong in Clarke's stomach, equal parts desire and tenderness, and she slides her fingers into Lexa's hair, pressing their faces together with renewed fervor.

As goodbye kisses go, it's a pretty phenomenal one.

“I will see you soon?”, Clarke asks after they separate, breathless, hope and uncertainty laced together in her words. She purposefully avoids saying _may we meet again._

Lexa nods, swallowing hard.

“Promise you will think about what we discussed? The trading agreements? Mount Weather?”

Lexa rolls her eyes at her, but she can't hold back a snort of laughter. “You truly are _relentless_. Yes, you have my word, Clarke. Now go.”

Clarke leaves with one last kiss to the corner of Lexa's mouth, and a heavy, heavy heart.

 

 

Walking through Camp Jaha in the early morning is like walking through a dream – nothing seems quite real. The ruins of the Ark stand tall and dark against the sky, tainted pink with hints of the upcoming dawn. There isn't a single soul outside as Clarke makes her way to the few tents scattered on the west side where she, Lincoln, and a handful of former delinquents have established their quarters.

She's almost to her tent, ready to fall face down on her mattress and close her eyes – maybe cry a little, to ease the aching pressure in her chest -, when she unexpectedly collides into another person sneaking back to their tent. For a few second, she's too shocked to recognize him, and then her stomach drops.

“Ow”, Jasper moans, rubbing his jaw where Clarke's shoulder hit him. She can smell alcohol on his breath.

“Are you okay?”, she asks, voice low, careful not to disturb her friends sleeping in the tents around them.

He snorts. “Am I okay?”, he repeats, loudly, swaying as he attempts a mocking little bow. “I'm peachy, thank you _so much_ for asking.”

Clarke resists the impulse to shush him, knowing full well this would only anger him. She's in no mood to handle Jasper right now - she's tired, and sad, and missing Lexa already.

“Good night, Jasper.” She takes one step forward, but he reaches out and catches her arm, tugging her back towards him.

“Well, _someone_ certainly had a good night”, Jasper sneers, staring at her neck. Clarke jerks her arm free and brings her hand to her throat, confused. It hurts when she presses fingers against her skin, and she suddenly remembers Lexa's mouth on her neck, sucking, licking, biting.

“I'm glad genocide is such a turn on for some people.”

His voice carries far in the silence surrounding them, loud and bitter, and she winces. “Jasper, please. Everybody's sleeping.”

“What, you think people give a fuck about your sexcapades?”, he laughs. “Nobody cares if you had sex with a guard, or an engineer, or the floating Chancellor for that matter. Unless...”

He pauses and gapes at her. Clarke swallows, apprehension rising, thick and sickening, in the back of her throat, and she _should_ leave, but her feet won't move, and before she can say or do anything there's a flicker of understanding in Jasper's unfocused eyes.

“ _Her_?”

“No...”

He doesn't pay attention to her, and a grin slowly stretches his lips. “The Commander? That's who you've been with? Oh, _that_ is priceless.”

Clarke wants to protest, refute, feed him an easy lie, but Jasper is staring hard at her, and she's suddenly too tired to care.

(And maybe the sight of that boy who hates her so vehemently, when she once considered him a friend, is just too unbearable tonight – she has exhausted her will to fight.)

“Fine”, she sighs. “Yes, I was with Lexa. Happy?”

Jasper shakes his head, and when he speaks his voice gets brittle, venomous.

“I knew she fucked you over at Mount Weather, but I didn't think you'd let her keep fucking you. I guess murder makes you desperate!”

“Okay, enough..”

“Enough?”, he scoffs. “I'm just getting started. So is that why you left, instead of facing what you did like an actual decent person? You just ran away to _get some_?”

“Shut up.”

“Is she good at least? Does she make you forget the blood on your hands?”

“I said enough”, Clarke whispers angrily, advancing towards him with balled-up fists. Jasper bursts out laughing, clearly unfazed, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. Instead, he turns towards the tents, and starts shouting.

“Hey, guys! Wakey-wakey, have you heard the news? Clarke is...”

“Shut up!”, she repeats, taking hold of his shoulder and yanking him towards her, violently, but it's too late, she can see movement in the tent closest to them, and then there's hushed voices, the flicker of a candle, and the flap is pushed aside.

“What the hell is going on?”, Bellamy says once he's outside, shirtless, voice gravelly, looking worried and just a tad annoyed.

“Jasper is drunk”, Clarke replies hastily, just as Monty, Harper and Miller emerge from another tent to their right.

“Jasper is drunk”, Jasper confirms, in a sing-song voice, “and our dear Clarke is fucking the Commander!”

He claps, delighted, and Clarke has to fight back angry tears. She doesn't want to deal with any of this, not right now, when barely fifteen minutes ago she had to leave Lexa, again. She swallows, and can't find it in her to deny the accusation – her heart already bruised enough.

Movement again, and Gina steps out of Bellamy's tent, wrapped up in a blanket, hair disheveled, followed by – _Raven_? The two of them stare at Clarke with owlish eyes, and if she wasn't so upset, Clarke would definitely _at least_ wonder, but as it is she doesn't have the energy to even question this new development. Instead, she approaches Jasper, and glares at him, in a way that makes him visibly flinch.

“Who I sleep with is none of your business, and I don't care about your opinion on the matter. I get that you're hurting, but I won't be your punching bag, Jasper, so quit it. And as I'm sure you all understand, this information can put both my and Lexa's lives at risk, and that's not even touching on what it could do to the alliance, so _please_ ”, and this time she addresses everyone, “keep your mouths shut.”

She doesn't dare look at them before striding to her tent, afraid of what she would find on her friends' faces.

 

 

Things are even more stilted, after that. No that there is any more altercation on the subject – even Jasper keeps his distance – but the latent unease between Clarke and her friends is hard to ignore, and it weights on Clarke's shoulders like the hot sticky air of the summer, something oppressive and likely to end in a storm.

“Were you with her the whole time you were away?”, Bellamy asks her one night, sliding on a stool next to her at the canteen bar. He doesn't look at her, eyes on his drink.

“No”, Clarke replies, tone sharper than she intended. She's not sure she wants to hear what's on his mind.

Bellamy rests both elbows on the counter and sighs. “Nobody will talk, I made sure of it. Even Jasper. Whatever is happening between you and Lexa, it's your call, and they won't interfere.”

Clarke looks at him, touched. “Thank you”, she says, softly, and she misses him, suddenly, acutely, painfully, misses the ease of their friendship, the trust that used to exist unmarred between them, before she left.

He takes a long sip of his beer, and glances at her, pensive. “Do you love her?”

Clarke freezes. “I don't know”, she mumbles, avoiding his eyes.

“Just... don't do anything stupid”, Bellamy says grimly, staring back at his drink. “She betrayed us once, and we're still paying the consequences. Don't let her hurt us again.”

He swallows the rest of his beer and gets up, leaving Clarke to her thoughts. His words echo in her ears, and for a few minutes she lets herself remember the dreadful night Lexa looked straight in her eyes, face covered in blood that wasn't hers, and crushed her hopes with just a couple of words. _I'm sorry, Clarke._

She doesn't think of the betrayal often, these days – her forgiveness was hard won, but offered willingly and completely – which isn't to say it doesn't hurt, still. Clarke suspects some wounds will always be sore, even if the ache fades with time. The short conversation with Bellamy does more than awaken painful history, though – it forces her to face a truth she kept at bay since she left the village: when all is said and done, Lexa and her still aren't on the same side.

Lexa cares, yes, but she's still the head of a federation of foreign nations. Clarke knows, without a doubt, that given a choice between the Sky people and the coalition, Lexa will choose the latter, every time. And Clarke is a political figure of her own, whether she likes it or not. The great _wanheda_ might be hiding in the shadows of Camp Jaha for now, but the world won't forget about her so easily. Given the circumstances of their lives, negotiating their relationship, however they define it, is only going to keep getting more and more difficult.

Clarke sighs, and signals the bartender – not Gina, she notices, with a guilty pang of relief – for another beer.

“You already had your authorized alcoholic beverage”, the man replies, shaking his head. “You know the rationing rules as well as anyone here. I can't give you another.”

She groans, not even attempting to protest. “Just give me some tea. Make it strong.”

“Add maple syrup in mine”, says a voice next to her, and Clarke almost jumps out of her seat.

“God, Lincoln”, she gasps, pressing a hand to her heart. “Stop doing that!”

Lincoln grins, showing his teeth. “And deprive myself of such an easy source of entertainment?”

Clarke tries to frown, but his good mood is contagious, and she ends up with a smile too, albeit weaker than his. If things between her and her friends are complicated, the opposite could be said of her tentative friendship with Lincoln. Since that first night on the watchtower, they've grown closer, often spending time together in the few evenings Clarke has free from work. It's so effortless, that sometimes she even forgets the context of their first meeting, the fact that she was complicit in his torture, and every time she remembers remorse trickles down her spine, syrupy and unpleasant. She doubts _he_ can ever forget.

“I heard from Octavia”, Lincoln says, eyes bright with joy. “She gave a message to one of the _trikru_ merchants who brings us honey, said it won't be long till she visits Camp Jaha again.”

Clarke puts her hand on his shoulder. “I'm so happy for you both! I know it's been a long time since you saw each other.”

“It takes as long as it takes”, Lincoln shrugs. Clarke nods, understanding, and takes a sip of the hot tea placed in font of her. “When you saw the Commander”, Lincoln starts again, his voice growing cautious, “did she mention anything about lifting the kill order?”

Clarke's heart gives a painful squeeze. “No, she didn't, I'm sorry Lincoln.” She swallows down her guilt, and faces him. “I'll ask her about it next time, I promise. I should have thought of you. I'm sorry”, she repeats, a bit ashamed.

Lincoln nods and drinks his tea. “It's alright, Clarke. It' not your burden to bear.”

She keeps quiet, despite the stubborn voice hammering inside her that _yes, yes it is_.

She tells him instead about her conversation with Lexa, the possibility of trading with other clans, of reopening the Mountain. Lincoln visibly flinches when she mentions Mount Weather.

“The Commander will never agree to that”, he declares, somber. “But trading is going to be the bare minimum, otherwise your people won't survive another year. And it might very well not be enough, anyway.”

“I know”, Clarke says, tiredly. It's not the first time Lincoln and her have discussed the issue of sustainability and Camp Jaha. The parcel of land allotted to the Sky Crew during the negotiations with Lexa has too few arable surfaces – the rest is taken up by the forest, which is great for foraging and woodcutting, not so great for actually producing enough to feed the near 300 Arkers over an extended period of time.

“There's nothing we can do about it, for now”, she says eventually and then, determined to not let Lincoln's good mood disappear, she swiftly changes the subject. “Oh, I wanted to ask you – remember when we were drawing together the other night, and you said you'd teach me how to make the same color pastels you were using?”

Lincoln's face lights up and he starts talking about pigments and dye and chalk, and Clarke lets herself relax for the first time since Lexa left.

 

 

Spending most of your existence in a spaceship doesn't exactly prepare you to handle a number of basic living conditions on the ground, one of these being the weather. Since the Ark was always carefully kept at mild temperature, apart from minor flukes due to system malfunctions, there was absolutely no fluctuation in heat or humidity level. So it's no wonder the Arkers are having a really hard time dealing with the week-long heatwave that surprises them mid-summer.

Under the relentless sun, Camp Jaha turns into a pot of boiling water, and underlying tensions rise to the surface like bubbles. On day two, the ex-delinquents working in the fields stage a protest that ends in a brief scuffle with the guards on duty, and Kane postponing any heavy manual labor until after the weather is back to normal. On day three, Sinclair enforces an emergency protocol, limiting the number of showers per person to only one a week, concerned about depleting their water supply – a measure that leaves the population far sweatier than before, and the general mood dangerously close to homicidal.

Clarke isn't immune to the phenomenon – on more than one occasion, she finds herself snapping at Abby, who in return chides her like she would a petulant teenager, which does nothing to soothe Clarke's irritation. During her long hours in the stifling med bay, she daydreams of that lovely spring afternoon she spent lounging on a river bank with Lexa, and the doodles in her journal all somehow turn into her idea of an idyllic beach, complete with palm trees and cold drinks.

(One even has a roughly sketched Lexa in a _very_ skimpy outfit – and Clarke will deny any knowledge of this to her deathbed.)

And then, finally, one late afternoon, the dark grey clouds looming over them erupt in a violent outburst, sudden rain pouring down on Camp Jaha and transforming the courtyard into a mud bath in mere minutes, electricity crackling high in the sky. It's the first summer thunderstorm they've ever witnessed, so understandably they all run for cover inside the Ark.

With everybody soaking wet and confined to a crowded canteen, things get uncomfortable very fast. Insults fly, people push and shove, and Clarke, seating at a table with Raven and Bellamy, looks sourly at the chaos before her.

“A few hours of that and I swear I'm leaving this camp to go live in the woods forever”, she grumbles.

Raven lifts her head to stare at her, irritation creasing her face. “Yeah, cause that's what you do, now. Run away when things get a bit difficult.”

“That was a joke”, Clarke replies after a pause, taken aback by the hostility in Raven's tone.

“Whatever you say, Clarke.” Raven goes back to glaring at the table, and Clarke sighs. “Look, if you have something to say, say it.”

Raven locks her jaw and stays quiet ; Clarke looks at Bellamy but he doesn't meet her gaze, mouth set in a stubborn line, and she feels her own anger bubbling in her chest. “If this is still about me going away, it's been 8 months, guys. More than half a year. Time to move on.”

Now, _that_ gets Raven's attention, and she turns to face Clarke, incredulous. “Move on? How? We never even talked about it!”

Clarke reels back, defensive. “What is there to talk about? I needed some time to myself, that's not a crime.”

“You left us, Clarke”, Bellamy says, and his loud voice make a few heads turn their way. “We all went through hell, together, but then you... you just left. Do you know what it was like, picking up the pieces after Mount Weather, trying to overcome what they did to us? I was tortured, caged, drained of my blood. Raven was strapped to a table and they fucking _drilled_ into her, and Harper too, and Fox died, and Jasper...”

He takes a shaky breath, and Raven puts a hand on his shoulder, comforting. “I pushed that lever with you, Clarke. Did that mean nothing to you?”

“You don't know half the things I had to do”, Clarke whispers, darkly. Bellamy shakes his head, and fixes her with cold eyes.

“What, like leaving my sister to die in TonDC, or lying to me about it in the first place?"

Clarke opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. “Yeah, Octavia told me”, Bellamy continues, bitter. “What was it, you said to Raven? That it was better if I didn't know, so I could keep doing my job?”

“I'm sorry”, Clarke says, ignoring the sudden need to cry building in her throat. “I really am, Bellamy, you know I would never have left Octavia if I didn't think it was our only option at the time. But...” She breathes out, and steadies her voice. “But I should have told you, on the radio. I should have trusted you.”

“Yeah, you should have”, Bellamy agrees, tone sharp, unforgiving. “And you should have stayed.”

“No”, Clarke retorts, not willing to concede that part. “It was better for me to go, and I won't apologize for that. It's what I needed, at the time, and I'm glad I did it.”

Bellamy grits his teeth, but it's Raven who speaks next, and her words tear at Clarke's heart, like countless little thorns piercing her skin, and finding the guilt simmering underneath.

“You didn't even say goodbye.”

Raven looks like she's fighting back tears. “Wick carried me to the med bay and I passed out, and when I woke up the next morning you were gone.” Clarke blinks rapidly, still refusing to cry, as Raven keeps talking. “Finn was gone, and you were gone. I was in pain, and alone, and grieving, and you didn't even care enough to say goodbye.”

“Raven...”

“You killed him.” Raven's voice is like steel this time, cutting through Clarke's pleading voice. “I understand why you did it, I don't blame you for it, but it still happened, Clarke. You killed him, and then you left me alone to deal with his death, and I'm not sure I can forgive you for that.”

Clarke's heart is pounding a desperate beat, her ribs tightening, compressing her lungs – she can't breathe, she can't talk, she feels trapped and guilty and sick to her stomach.

She gets up, hastily, and her stool falls with a dull thud to the ground. “Sorry”, she mutters, staring at her feet, before she turns around and rushes towards the door.

“See! You're doing it again”, Bellamy yells after her. “Things get tough so you just run away!”

She ignores him, just walks out of the canteen and through the Ark's damp hallways until she's outside, under the rain. She takes a deep breath, wet clothes clinging to her skin, and finally, finally, she lets herself cry, violent sobs lost in the violent storm.

After a while, she becomes aware of a presence behind her, and she turns her head, expecting Lincoln. But it's not him ; it's Gina.

“Did you hear everything?”, Clarke asks in a small voice, feeling very vulnerable and half expecting another fight.

“Yes”, Gina says. The softness of her tone eases some of Clarke's tension.

“I never wanted to hurt them”, Clarke says. In front of her, the rain falls endlessly against the gates, and the metallic clang resonates bitterly in the deserted courtyard. “I never wanted to hurt anybody.”

Gina takes a step forward and stands next to her, shoulders touching, eyes staring straight ahead. “They love you, you know”, she says, quietly. “And I don't mean just Bellamy and Raven, I mean all the kids from the dropship. They love you."

Clarke shivers under the rain, feels icy drops of water running down her spine. Gina goes on. “Everyone took it very hard, you leaving. Bellamy, especially, because a few days later Octavia left him too. It's been difficult for him, losing the two of you practically at the same time. And not knowing if you were even alive, for months... It was driving Raven crazy. She was finally mourning Finn, you know. It's hard to grieve when you're afraid someone else you love might be dead.”

She pauses, and Clarke nods, sniffling. “I get it, I do. But I just couldn't stay, after everything I did... I lost myself. I _had_ to leave. I just wish they understood that.”

“And I'm sure they do, deep down”, Gina answers, gently. “But that's just how feelings work, sometimes. You know it might have been for the best, but you still get hurt. I'm glad they told you, at least. It's the only way you'll all move on.”

“I don't know how to fix this”, Clarke says, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don't know how to fix any of it.”

Gina hesitates, and then she puts her arm around Clarke's shoulders, and Clarke can't help but lean into the comfort she offers.

“There is nothing for you to fix.”

 

 

A week passes, and another one. Bellamy apologizes, once, and Clarke apologizes too – and then they stand, uneasy, in the courtyard, staring at their feet, like they both have no idea _what_ they're even apologizing for. As for Raven, ever since the fight in the canteen, when she comes to the med bay for her appointments Clarke finds somewhere else to be. Raven, for once, doesn't seem in a hurry to confront her.

But before anything can get resolved, one mid-summer afternoon, Lexa comes back. And this time, she's in full Commander apparatus, with twin swords crossed at her back, red sash draped over her shoulder, and black paint dripping on her cheekbones ; the number of warriors following her has tripled, and three strangers are riding at her side.

Kane orders the guards to let them through the gates, but Clarke can tell he's not completely at ease with the sudden arrival of so many Grounders. And if Clarke is honest with herself, she's a little apprehensive too – despite the happiness and relief filling her chest.

“Chancellor Marcus Kane”, Lexa declares as she rides into Camp Jaha, her voice carrying loud and clear in the courtyard. “Traveling with me are three ambassadors from the western clans, who wish to discuss trade negotiations with the Sky Crew. Here is Ander, ambassador of the Shadow Valley clan.”

She gestures to the man at her right, who nods in greeting. He has long dark braids, tied together at the base of his skull, and a thick rope is coiled around his waist and up his chest - as protection or ornament, Clarke cannot tell.

“This is Chiga, of the Lake People”, Lexa continues, “and Marion, from the Blue Cliff clan.”

The first woman raises a hand in salute, sitting a bit slumped on her horse, and Clarke notices the pair of crutches fastened to her saddle. The third ambassador, Marion, is also the oldest, with grey hair cropped short and deep blue tattoos marking her hands, swirling up her forearms - she smiles easily at the crowd as she dismounts and pats her horse's flank.

“Commander, I..”, Kane stutters, wide-eyed, before straightening his shoulders. “It's an honor to welcome such distinguished guests. Please join me in the council room, and I will hear more about...”

“You misunderstand”, Lexa interrupts, calm and inflexible. “They're here to negotiate with _wanheda_.”

In the silence that follows, all eyes turn to Clarke. She opens her mouth to protest but Kane is faster. “Of course”, he says, without missing a beat. “Clarke, will you lead the way, please?”

There's a tight smile on his lips, and no way to mistake his words for anything but an order.

“Fine”, Clarke agrees, between gritted teeth. She glances at Lexa, trying to make apparent her displeasure at being _ambushed_ like that. Lexa stares back, challenging. Clarke starts walking.

Once everybody is seated at the council room's table – everybody being the three ambassadors, Clarke, Lexa, Kane, and the three council members -, Lexa speaks, in a tone that brooks no argument.

“As the Commander, it is my duty to preside over any trade negotiations involving clans of the coalition. I won't, however, participate, and will only interfere if one of you is treated unfairly. Once you have reached an understanding“, and here she slowly stares at everyone in turn, sternly, “I will proclaim it to be true. The word of the Commander is law, and all parties will be bound by it to respect the deal.”

She pauses again, and leans back against her chair. “You may proceed.”

What follows is a complete and utter disaster, and Clarke's head is pounding painfully by the time Sinclair suggests they take a break for dinner and resume in the morning.

Marion, the Blue Cliff ambassador, seems genuinely interested in a trading agreement – her clan has goats that they would be willing to send to Camp Jaha, in exchange for wood - but the other two spend more time staring at Clarke with a mix of awe and disappointment than actually participating in the talks. The Arkers don't fare much better : Abby and Bellamy get frustrated too easily whereas Kane's exaggerated gentleness earns him quite a few suspicious glares ; Sinclair looks like he'd rather be in his workshop than stuck here.

All in all, it's a waste of time. Clarke sits silently throughout the meeting, lips stubbornly pressed together, angry that she's being used as a political pawn by both Lexa and Kane, angry that this conversation is going nowhere while Camp Jaha suffers – and yes, angry at herself, for still refusing to do anything about it. Part of her wants nothing more than to stand up and leave, because she's been avoiding precisely that kind of responsibility since Mount Weather. Yet another part of her can't help but yearn to just _take control_.

Since she doesn't talk, she's free to observe, and there is plenty to notice: the way Ander keeps looking at their electrical lamp with utter fascination and something close to envy, Chiga's obvious discomfort, squirming on her metal chair - travelling must have been a painful affair – as she tries to deal with the pain by chewing leaves she has stored in a delicate little jar of painted clay.

Before she's even aware of it, Clarke is filing away all these details, making connections, planning her next moves – and that's when she knows, suddenly, that this is something she _wants_ to do, as much as it terrifies her.

That night, at dinner, Clarke sits at the Chancellor's table. She still doesn't say a word, but this time it's on purpose. She sits straight and schools her features, jaw locked, mouth set in a stern line, and knows it's working when the three ambassadors fidget a little under the cold, cold eyes of _wanheda_.

(If she can't choose her reputation, might as well play the part and _use it_.)

After dinner, Lexa invites the Sky people to drink sweet peach wine and cold mead around the huge bonfire her warriors built outside of Camp Jaha, in return for their hospitality. Most of the Arkers go, curious, and Clarke corners Sinclair on his way out of the empty canteen. She doesn't let him go until he agrees to do what she asks.

Once she's at the bonfire, flames casting reddish shades on Arkers and Grounders alike, she spots Chiga leaning on her crutches, and casually goes to stand a dozen feet away from her, drink in hand, scanning the crowd. When she finds her, she signals for Raven to come and join her.

Raven stares at her from afar, the smoke making her face unreadable, before walking up to Clarke with quick, decisive steps. Clarke catches Chiga looking at Raven, and smiles to herself.

“What do you need?”, Raven asks when she's standing right next to Clarke, bare shoulders brushing together.

“Nothing, I just thought we could talk...”, Clarke starts, but Raven cuts her off, brisk and to the point.

“Oh, please. I know you, Clarke. What are you up to?”

Even when they're not on the best of terms, she can always count on Raven to _get it_. So she explains, while Raven listens with crossed arms and a focused expression. In the end, Raven agrees with a sharp nod, and Clarke leaves her to go talk with Marion – she has questions, and the old ambassador has proven herself to be the friendliest of the lot.

Later, when she makes her way through the Grounders campsite and back to Camp Jaha, she catches glimpses of a conversation between two warriors and stops abruptly when she hears the word _azgeda_ hushed in the darkness. Her _trigedasleng_ is rusty, and they talk in low careful voices, so she can't really make out what they are saying, but she does recognize the words _survivors_ and _soon._

She thinks briefly that she should let Lexa know, before anger flares up in her chest at the thought of the Commander. She doesn't join Lexa in her tent that night, and come morning, she has forgotten any whispers of the Ice Nation.

 

 

When they reconvene in the council room, Clarke is _ready_. Adrenaline is coursing steadily through her veins, electrifying, and yet she feels calm and clear-headed and in control – and there is no use denying how much she's missed it.

Before anybody can talk, she addresses the man sitting in front of her.

“Ander, of the Shadow Valley, we are ready to send two of our most capable engineers, to set up an electrical power system in your main city, as well as an irrigation system for your agriculture.”

Kane frowns, ready to protest, but Sinclair backs her up, as planned. “I have talked to Kyle Wick and Rosmerta Higgins, they are both willing to go.”

Ander smiles, baring his teeth. “ _Wanheda_ , this is a generous offer. What do you expect of my people in exchange?”

“I know you have sheep, and my people need wool for our clothing. I also know you have fields of cotton and whey – two things we cannot grow on our own. We will need two loads of each for every month our engineers work in your land – and then one load of each every two months, as long as our installations function. ”

He sucks in a breath. “This is a lot.”

“ _This_ is the price to pay if you want to be _the first clan_ to enjoy our technology. Think about it, ambassador. Don't you want to be remembered as the one who brought modernity to his clan?”

She stares at him, watching hesitation dance in his eyes, and lets out a satisfied sigh when he finally agrees. Lexa stays silent, but there's a small smile at the corner of her lips, which Clarke pretends she cannot see.

“What do you have to offer the Lake People, if you're giving away your technology to Shadow Valley?” Chiga asks, a little sarcastic.

“How is your leg, ambassador?” Clarke retorts instead, resting both elbows on the table, confident. People whisper, taken aback – Abby even lets out a feeble “ _Clarke_ ”. But Chiga just stares at her, with dark eyes.

“The whims of nature do not bring shame onto those who endure them”, Chiga declares eventually, proud.

“And I agree, you have nothing to be ashamed of”, Clarke replies. “The most brilliant person I know has a similar problem with her leg, and I think I speak for all of us when I say we wouldn't be alive without her. Perhaps you've seen her at the bonfire last night – a girl my age, brunette, with a leg-brace?”

Chiga frowns and avoids Clarke's eyes for a second.

“You saw how she walks without crutches”, Clarke says softly.

“What is your point, _wanheda_?” Chiga snaps, impatient.

“I've been told”, and here Marion squirms a bit when Clarke glances at her, “that these types of injuries are common for your people – it is said that the Lake People are more touched by mutations than any other clan, and that contrary to them you do not banish those with mutations to the wastelands.”

She can see a glint of understanding in her mother's eyes, as she keeps talking. “We can help you with that. Raven, the one I was telling you about, she built a brace for herself – she can do the same for you, and any of your people who need it, if you agree to our deal. You can even send healers to our camp, and we'll be happy to share our medical knowledge.”

Chiga looks pensive for a minute. “What do you need from us?”

“Clay”, Clarke says immediately. “And what your people make of it: plates and bowls, tiles for our roofs and our floors.”

When the ambassador nods her agreement, Clarke turns to Marion, the last of the three. The old woman smiles. “The rumors don't lie about you, child. As I have stated before, Blue Cliff will gladly offer some of our goats at the end of every summer, for a load of wood to build our houses and warm us through winter.”

“Thank you”, Clarke says, smiling too. “We accept.”

When it's all over, Abby and Kane look at Clarke with wonder and something like pride.

 

 

Bellamy slides in next to her, as the ambassadors and the council members and the Chancellor file out of the room, chatting agreeably. “See?”, he mutters, voice gruff. “I told you we needed you. You're good at this stuff.”

Clarke doesn't answer, and he shrugs. “Welcome to the council”, he says, echoing what he told her almost two months ago. The door closes behind him with a metallic click, and suddenly Clarke is alone with Lexa, who is quietly studying one of the whiteboards, fingers linked behind her back. Clarke locks the door, not wanting to be disturbed, and turns around, arms crossed against her chest.

“You used me”, she says, her tone accusatory.

“No, I didn't”, Lexa replies without turning to face her. “I found a way to make the trading agreements happen, which is what you wanted.”

“But you knew I didn't want to get involved. You knew I wanted to stay away from leadership, and yet you dangled me in front of them like a worm on a hook.”

Lexa sighs. “You can't escape who you are, Clarke.”

Clarke's throat tightens, and she snaps, loud and frustrated. “ _What_ _am I_ , then? Since you seem to know better than me?”

“You are powerful”, Lexa says, finally looking at her. The pride and admiration in Lexa's eyes make Clarke's knees tremble. “And dangerous”, Lexa continues, “and smart, and strong, and compassionate. And maybe your fate isn't written in your blood like mine is, but it only means you get to _choose_ to be a leader, Clarke.”

Lexa pauses, and Clarke lets out the breath she was holding, shakily. “I know you had to do terrible things”, Lexa whispers, as she takes hesitant steps towards Clarke, her voice softer now. “But this was war. Now that we have peace, think of all you can accomplish to build a better future for all of us. And you won't be alone : your people already have many good leaders. The Chancellor, your mother, your friend Bellamy. You are only one voice, Clarke, and as much as you are needed, not everything depends on you.”

Another pause, and Lexa repeats, solemn and genuine. “ And you won't be alone. You have me.”

Her promise, bordering on devotion, has Clarke's heart _aching,_ and she closes the distance between them and kisses her – Lexa is still for a brief moment before her mouth opens and she kisses back, teeth closing gently onto Clarke's lower lip.

Clarke sets both hands on Lexa's waist and pushes her backward until her hips hit the edge of the council table. Lexa gasps into her mouth, and she raises a hand to cup the back of Clarke's neck. All the tension weighting Clarke down is evaporating like water left too long on the fire – her limbs loosen, her ribcage expands, the knots in her stomach unravel – and she lets herself drown in the safety and comfort of Lexa's hands, Lexa's tongue, _Lexa_.

When Clarke starts to pull at her belt, Lexa's breath hitches and she stops her eager hand. “Clarke. My warriors are waiting for me outside. I should be on my way to Polis right now.”

“I don't care. They can wait. _Polis_ can wait. I want you”, Clarke says, but she takes a step back, giving Lexa some space.

Lexa looks conflicted for a second, eyes fleeting down to Clarke's lips, her chest, her hips. Desire pulses between Clarke's legs, pooling in her lower stomach, at the base of her spine, warm and insistent.

“Are you still mad at me?”, Lexa asks, eventually, her face open and a little wary.

“No”, Clarke says, truthfully. When Lexa raises an eyebrow, she elaborates. “I don't like how you did it, but I appreciate that you made it happen. And Lexa...”

Clarke inhales sharply. “What you said, about me... I... it means a lot.”

Lexa nods, and Clarke presses herself against her again, burying her nose in the crook of Lexa's neck.

“I want you”, she repeats, a whisper against Lexa's skin. Lexa shivers and slips warm hands under Clarke's shirt.

“You have me”, Lexa murmurs in her ear, fingers resting softly on her lower back. Clarke's chest is on _fire,_ lungs flooded by a wave of something scary and exhilarating all at once, and she kisses Lexa's neck, hungrily, fingers grazing the waistband of Lexa's pants. This time, Lexa doesn't stop her.

Clarke undoes Lexa's belt, quick and efficient, kissing Lexa's pale throat, sucking at her pulse point, biting and licking, greedy. Lexa groans, hips still firmly pushed against the council table, her hands sliding down to cup Clarke's ass, squeezing when one of Clarke's hands disappear into her pants.

Lexa's underwear is wet, and Clarke muffles a moan against Lexa's jaw. “Can you lower your pants for me?”, she asks, voice husky. Lexa hums and pulls her pants and underwear down her thighs. Clarke looks at her then, notices the red tainting her cheeks, the bite marks turning purple on her neck, the hunger in her eyes.

“You are so beautiful”, Clarke says, stunned. Lexa closes her fingers around Clarke's wrist and brings it to her lips, presses a kiss to her frenetic pulse, soft like a thank you.

Then she guides Clarke's fingers between her legs, and Clarke bites her lip. The skin of Lexa's inner thighs is soft, velvety – and so very warm. Clarke traces light circles, higher and higher, until her fingertips find wetness, and Lexa's body arches against hers.

Clarke kisses Lexa right as her fingers dip inside her, sucking the air out of her lungs. Lexa clutches at her shoulders, tensing, gasping, growling wet needy little noises that turn Clarke's spine into molten lava.

They fall in a rhythm, Clarke fucking her deep and slow, pressing her thumb on Lexa's clit with every movement of her wrist, Lexa raising her hips, hands flat on the table behind her. They don't stop kissing, until Lexa's head falls back, suddenly, mouth open and eyes shut tight, and she comes, silent and trembling, around Clarke's fingers.

Clarke rests her forehead against Lexa's and closes her eyes, her fingers still deep inside her, waiting for the tremors to subside. She kisses Lexa's nose, gently, then the top of her left cheekbone, her jaw, lets her tongue follow the shell of her ear. Lexa squirms and sighs, her breath cool on Clarke's burning skin.

At last, she slides her fingers out, carefully, and stumbles back. Lexa is still leaning against the table, pants down to her knees, thighs glistening, lips parted and shiny. Clarke can't tear her eyes off her, fascinated and possessive, itching for her charcoals and her journal.

But time stops for no one, not even the Commander, and too soon Lexa pulls her pants back up and wipes at her mouth with the back of her hand. “My people are waiting for me, Clarke. I need to go.” Her voice sounds a mix of determination and regret.

“I know”, Clarke answers, resigned, before snorting. “God, I'm never gonna be able to sit at the council table without thinking of you, now.”

Lexa contemplates her, thoughtful. “So it is decided? You will take your place among your people's leaders?”

Clarke's chest feels lighter, somehow. She nods.

“Yes. Yes, I will. I'm ready now. I'm back.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

As a little girl, Clarke often dreamt of the day she would join the Ark council. Wells and her spent their childhood observing Abby and Thelonius from afar, eavesdropping on important conversations, learning about political schemes and power struggles. They knew, without an ounce of a doubt, that this was to be their fate as well. And whatever resentment and weariness they felt about it, they always drew comfort from each other. They were in this together.

When Clarke finally gets her seat on the council, on a beautiful summer day, Wells has been dead for almost a year.

 

 

The day of the vote, Clarke hides in the med bay under the pretense of checking the inventory. She buries herself in boring tasks, making lists, checking stocks, finding missing ingredients, writing report after report after report – but despite all her efforts, she can't help thinking about Wells. It feels like a betrayal, like a broken promise, to do this without him. It _hurts_.

Kane makes the announcement just before the evening meal. Clarke Griffin is to officially join the council as their Foreign Relations Liaison, a position created specifically for her. An overwhelming vote of confidence, he calls it, and Clarke stands up and waves dutifully, and dips her head in thanks as the dining hall erupts in applause. The tables around her are the loudest – the ex-delinquents overjoyed at having one of theirs promoted in such a way. Bellamy raises his glass to her, from his seat a few tables away, and the cheers double in volume and intensity. Clarke gives Kane her most bashful smile, but his eyes are narrowed, his own smile thin. She knows what he thinks: that Clarke's popularity with the younger Arkers could prove to be a problem, could only aggravate the division inside Camp Jaha.

There's a steady flow of people coming to congratulate her through dinner – from Sinclair's cordial handshake and sincere "welcome aboard" to strangers patting her shoulder like proud parents, and teenagers smiling conspiratorially at her like she's about to lead some sort of revolution.

A few are conspicuously absent. Raven and Monty aren't at dinner, so Clarke isn't too worried about either of them. Abby, on the other hand...

She's not sure she wants to face her mother right away, so instead she goes to seek Lincoln after dinner, and finds him up the usual watchtower, staring as the sun disappears in a bright orange blur behind the quiet woods.

"I hear congratulations are in order", he tells her before she has time to announce her presence.

Clarke huffs as she joins him and leans against the railing. "At least let me surprise you, just once. Turn off your super-hearing, or something."

He laughs. "You Sky People really have to work on your stealth. "

"Yeah, yeah", Clarke grumbles, before sighing. "Anyway, thank you." She pauses. "I'm going to need you, Lincoln."

"How can I help?"

"If I'm supposed to facilitate relations between us and the clans, I need someone to teach me about them, their customs, their history, their language. I can't do this without you."

He considers her, neutral. "Why me? The Commander could tell you all this."

"Oh, I'm sure she will, she tends to enjoy teaching me, whether I like it or not -", Lincoln chuckles at her tone, "- but there are certain things she cannot tell me without showing favoritism, or breaching confidentiality. Things I _need_ to know to protect my people."

Lincoln is silent for a moment, and she waits. Eventually, he sighs. "I will teach you what I know about the twelve clans. But you cannot ask me to reveal _trikru_ secrets – my people may call me _natrona_ for the rest of my life, but I won't betray them anymore than I already have."

Clarke feels a pang of guilt, and overwhelming gratitude. "Of course. And I will get the Commander to revoke the kill order, Lincoln. It's only a matter of time. Then you will be free to go back to your people."

He gives her a wistful smile. "Don't you remember, Clarke? You're my people, now."

 

 

The next morning, Clarke heads over to the council room for her first official meeting. Kane is there to greet her, clasping her hand with a kind smile.

"Welcome to the council, Clarke", he tells her, as Bellamy and Sinclair come in and take a seat around the table.

"I'm afraid your mother won't be joining us today", Kane adds, apologetic. Clarke stomach rolls unpleasantly, but she forces a smile. "I see. Well, we have work to do, so let's get to it."

And so they do, for the next three hours. There is so much to discuss, Clarke realizes, as they go over the many items on the agenda for the day. Camp Jaha is in constant need of repairs, and Sinclair asks for more workers to make up for the loss of two of his best engineers – Kyle Wick and Rosmerta Higgins left with the Shadow Valley ambassador, as agreed.

Bellamy is in a surprisingly good mood. Clearly, he's happy with Clarke's choice to join the council. There's no resentment in his voice anymore when he asks her opinion on work scheduling, no gritted teeth when he explains the night shifts rotation system – he looks at her with warmth instead of the cool distance she'd grown used to, and Clarke feels soothing relief flowing through her veins. She's finally managed to earn back his approval.

 

 

Now her mother, that's another story.

Clarke's main mission, apart from attending council meetings, is to supervise the new trade deals. She checks in daily with Raven, who's started working on a leg brace for Chiga, and is planning on building a dozen prosthesis or so for the Lake People.

Clarke also has to set in motion the woodcutting for the shipment of wood they owe Blue Cliff, and maintain regular radio contact with the engineers they sent to Shadow Valley, making sure everything is going well over there.

Of course, this doesn't leave her a lot of time to work in the med bay anymore, which is why she comes up with the idea of implementing an official medical training program, to ensure people will be able to replace her eventually. It also coincides with the arrival of four healers from the Lake People, eager to learn about the Ark's medicine and share their own knowledge.

The training program is a huge success. Gina is one of the dozen Arkers to sign up for it, and at the end of the first session, Bellamy and Raven are waiting for her outside of the med bay, with huge, happy smiles and bright sunflowers. They hug her tightly and kiss her on both cheeks. Clarke watches the three of them from the office's window, and tries to ignore the pang of envy in her heart.

(The memory of Lexa's lips on her lips, on her forehead, on her throat, is vivid – and her absence makes Clarke feel so very lonely.)

All things considered, Clarke feels relatively proud of the work she's doing. Abby, however, isn't thrilled about any of it.

"Will you at least reconsider your decision, Clarke?", she says, one night, as they go over the med training curriculum together.

"Mom, it's done. I'll still work as many shifts as I can, you know I love working with you. And I still have so much to learn. But being on the council is important for all of us, and you have to let me do this."

"You have a future here", Abby retorts, "a career, a _path_.". Her eyes are boring into Clarke's, almost pleading. "You have the talent to become a great doctor, and in twenty years or so, when I retire, you could be the Chief of medicine."

"Jackson will make a great Chief", Clarke replies softly.

Abby huffs, exasperated, and switches to a different angle. "Is this because of Lexa? Are you doing this for her, because she asked you to, because she forced your hand somehow? She doesn't have the right to demand anything from you..."

"I'm not doing this for her", Clarke cuts her off, firmly. "I'm doing this for me."

Abby sighs, and lets her arms fall to her sides. "I just want you to be happy, honey. This isn't the life I wish for you. This isn't what your father would have wanted either."

Clarke grits her teeth. "This is who you made me into, Mom." She knows she sounds angry, but her mother's disappointment seems hardly fair, and she can't help the sudden surge of bitterness in her chest. "You spent my childhood _grooming_ me into a leader, so now you don't get to resent the fact that I am one. And you certainly don't get to bring up Dad, not for this."

Abby purses her lips, unhappy, and Clarke leaves the med bay before she can say another word, feeling unsettled and frustrated.

 

 

 

It comes to her the next day, when she steps into the forest with Bellamy and the ten Arkers who volunteered to go chopping wood for Blue Cliff.

She realizes, as she walks on the dirt path, surrounded by trees so high the sunlight falls on her like shredded drapes, that she hasn't ventured outside Camp Jaha since she came back, almost three months ago. And with that realization comes another one, far more important: she doesn't feel at home in Camp Jaha.

She knows, because just the thought of this day-trip has filled her with excitement and relief for the past few days. She knows, because as soon as she passes through the heavy gate, she feels _free._ She knows, because she felt more at home living with Aquia in a remote _trikru_ village, than with her mother and her expectations.

(If she were a little braver, she'd dig even deeper, and she'd accept another truth - one that involves Lexa, and how she feels at home with her too. But those are scary thoughts, terrifying feelings lurking on the edge of her consciousness, and she's not quite ready to acknowledge them.)

Clarke breathes in the fresh air, feels the soft forest ground under the sole of her boots. Bellamy walks at her side, jacket tied around his waist, his gun slung carelessly over his shoulder. It reminds her of a time, forever ago, when the two of them led the delinquents into the woods, desperately fleeing the grounders. On their way to Lincoln's friend, Luna, and a peaceful place to settle.

She steals a glance at him, and feels a pang of nostalgia and longing for her friend.

"Did you ever think about leaving?", she asks him. "Camp Jaha. Did you ever think it would be best to gather our friends and just leave?"

He readjusts the strap of his gun. "Oh, we thought about it. But after Mount Weather... Winter came, and we were still licking our wounds. And I think some of the younger kids just really felt safer living with adults."

"You're an adult", Clarke counters. _She's_ an adult, she thinks, with sudden clarity.

"Real adults", he corrects himself self-deprecatingly. "Non-criminal adults. Responsible-good-people adults."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. "I don't think there were a lot of those on the Ark, let alone Alpha station."

Bellamy hums his agreement. In front of them, Camp Jaha's two horses are steadily making their way between the trees, pulling the heavy chariot soon to be filled with wood, flanked by four armed Arkers on each side. The constant buzz of insects surrounds them, flies and mosquitoes and god knows what mutated specie of cicada.

"Are we ever gonna get past this?" Bellamy says, gesturing vaguely towards the space between Clarke and him.

"I hope so", Clarke whispers. She shakes her head, resolute. "I know so."

He nods. "Good. We make a good team."

"We do", Clarke agrees. "We make good friends, too."

He doesn't look at her, but his face breaks into a smile. She smiles too, and keeps walking.

 

 

 

A week passes, and Clarke is just starting to settle into her new routine, when a lone figure rides into Camp Jaha early in the morning, while most of the Arkers are still eating breakfast. Clarke is outside, getting some fresh air before what she knows will be a long day stuck in the Council room. She hears the guards talking loudly, then the creaking of metal as the gates open to let the rider through. At first she thinks it must be a grounder, a _trikru_ warrior in need of medical help, a messenger from Polis maybe.

It's only as she gets closer that she recognizes Octavia.

The girl has changed, that much is obvious. She moves on her horse like she was born on its back, dressed in light travel clothes, hair braided tight and adorned with colorful beads. Her cheeks have lost the roundness of youth, and she looks hardened, dangerous. Clarke's eyes are drawn to the tattoo on Octavia's face, three dark lines cutting across her left cheekbone from her eye to her jaw, like a scar left by powerful claws. There's another tattoo on her arm, curving around the biceps, and Clarke makes a mental note to ask Lexa about the meaning of _trikru_ tattoos next time she sees her.

Octavia dismounts in one fluid, elegant movement, patting her horse's flank, quietly assessing the Arkers staring at her. Clarke is struck again by how different she looks from the hotheaded, sparkly teenager she remembers from the Dropship days. The girl in front of her radiates confidence and a tranquil sort of strength that Clarke can't help but envy, that reminds her of...

Lincoln. She turns around and there he is, standing still behind her, mouth open in awe, before he quickly makes his way to where Octavia is standing. The two of them exchange a look, and Octavia's eyes brighten, her mouth quirks into a smile. Lincoln brings careful fingers to her face, traces the tattooed lines on her skin. Octavia cups his cheek in the palm of her hand, and they keep looking at each other in a way that makes Clarke's heart ache. She sees Lincoln's lips moving, but can't hear the words they whisper to each other.

"O!"

Bellamy's voice rings loudly in the otherwise mostly silent courtyard, and Lincoln steps away from Octavia as she turns towards her brother. Bellamy half runs to her, hair still wet from the shower, and throws his arms around Octavia, holding her tight.

"Hello, big brother", Octavia breathes against his shoulder.

"You're back", Bellamy says, disbelief and joy coloring his voice.

By now people have heard the news, and the delinquents are gathering near Octavia and Bellamy, waiting for their turn to welcome her.

After a minute or two, Monty pats Bellamy's back teasingly. "Alright, let the girl breathe! And let us say hello, you're not the only one who's missed her."

Even Jasper smiles at Bellamy's displeased grunt, and Octavia is grinning happily as she greets her friends. Clarke hovers at the edge of the crowd, stomach in knots, until Octavia notices her.

"Clarke", she says, with a neutral nod.

"Octavia. It's good to see you again." Clarke swallows, and risks a smile. "You look great."

Octavia's eyes glide over the Council badge pinned on Clarke's light jacket. "Likewise."

There's a murmur of discomfort among the delinquents as the air grows a little tense – nobody knows the extent of what happened in TonDC but Lincoln and Bellamy. The latter puts a placating hand on Octavia's shoulder.

"Come on, O. Play nice."

She shrugs him off, good-naturedly, but her gaze softens. "I'm glad you're here, Clarke", she says, before turning towards Lincoln. "Show me your tent?"

He smiles. "This way."

It's only much later, after the evening meal, that Clarke gets a chance to actually talk to Octavia. She finds her waiting up Lincoln's watchtower.

"I couldn't believe you left, that day, when we came back from Mount Weather", Octavia starts, eyes fixed on the horizon line. "Bell told me first, and I couldn't believe it. I was so angry."

Clarke nods, attentive, elbows resting on the rail. "And now?"

"Now I get it. And I'm not angry, I'm just.." She lets out a frustrated puff of breath. "I wish we weren't friends, it would make everything so much easier."

Clarke's chest warms at the word _friends_ , and she smiles. "I understand why you and Lexa did what you did in TonDC", Octavia continues, quietly. "But I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. My whole life I've been expendable, Clarke. How do I even forgive you for leaving me to die?"

"I don't expect you to", Clarke answers, past the lump in her throat. The whole situation reminds her sharply of her feelings towards Lexa, post betrayal.

Octavia hums. A moment passes, in silence, before she adds. "Indra's been receiving worrying news from the border."

Clarke straightens up. "The border?"

"Between _Trikru_ and _Azgedakru_. Our scouts report a lot of military movement, the number of patrols has increased." Octavia gives her a look. "The Commander is concerned."

"Lexa talked to you about it?"

Octavia snorts. "No, Clarke. I'm not you, I don't get to hear about the Commander's personal thoughts and feelings. But she's been having a lot of meetings with the ambassadors, and several private appointments with Indra, and I'm not an idiot."

Clarke bites her lip. "We can't have another war", she says softly, more to herself than to Octavia.

"There is always another war", Octavia replies, darkly.

 

 

 

Octavia's been given some time off her warrior duties, while Indra deals with tedious business in TonDC, and so she intends to stay in Camp Jaha while she can.

"You're just in time to help with the harvest", Monty jokes when she tells them over dinner that night. "We could use the extra hand."

Octavia lets out a long suffering sigh. "Fine, I'll help. How you guys managed to survive without me, I'll never know."

The harvest is a hard time. Of course, it is physically exhausting, back bent for hours, knees in the dirt and arms strained from carrying the heavy loads of corn and vegetables. But it's also a harsh reminder that despite everyone's good intentions, Camp Jaha was built by people who lived their whole lives believing in the Ark's hierarchical system.

Clarke can't help but miss her time in Aquia's village. Life wasn't easier, but there was a strong sense of community to make up for it. Planting corn, fishing and hunting, cooking: every adult able to do so participated in those ungrateful tasks, if not always with joy, at least with pride.

Clarke chooses to help out during the harvest, even though it's not in her job description to spend her afternoons picking out huge red onions from the ground, sweat dripping down her back, and she isn't the only one. But the majority of people not assigned to field work just don't show up. And what's worse, three guards are posted nearby, ostensibly to protect the fields and harvesters, though it's a little hard to believe when their eyes are focused on the workers, and not on outside threats.

Some of the delinquents mutter insults under their breath, but nobody complains out loud. Clarke feels the weight of the guards' gaze on them, foremen with guns who sit on wooden barrels and watch them sweating under the sun. It's humiliating.

So one day, when they finally leave the fields after hours of extenuating work and she notices two boys – Chris and Min-Jun, she knows them from the Dropship - stuffing their pockets with juicy tomatoes and fistful of ripe blackberries, she doesn't say a thing.

Unfortunately, the guards are not as lenient.

"Hey there! What do you think you're doing?", one of them yells suddenly, hopping off his seat.

Maybe it's instinct, or guilt, or just fear ingrained by years living within the rigid system of the ark where even the smallest crime could mean death – whatever it is, it makes the boys sprint towards the woods.

The guards leap to their feet to chase after them, and Clarke barely has time to react before they are caught.

"Don't hurt them!", she yells, running towards the scuffle as the boys resist, trying to twist away from the guards. The rest of the workers are silent behind her, but she can feel their collective anger rising like steam, and she knows it will only take a spark for it to boil over.

One of the guards aims her gun at the boys ; Clarke's heart misses a beat. "Hands on your head!", the guard barks. They obey instantly, clearly terrified.

"There is no need for that", Clarke protests, breathless, but the guards only give her a customary glance.

"Let the Chancellor decide how they should be treated", the one touting her gun says, dismissive. "Let's go, you two!"

The culprits are marched back into camp, hands on their heads and guns at their backs, Clarke trailing behind. The longer they walk, across the courtyard while Arkers stare at them, bewildered and whispering among themselves, and then into the long hallways of the Ark, the angrier she gets. So when they finally reach a dimly lit room, and the guards throw the boys behind iron bars and lock the gate, Clarke explodes.

"Alright, this has gone far enough! One of you go get Kane. Now!"

She narrows her eyes when they hesitate, projecting every single ounce of authority she possesses onto them. It does the trick, and one of them hurries out the door. She turns to the boys, at last.

"Min-Jun, Chris, are you okay?"

They nod, looking at their shoes. Their hands are darkened with blackberry juice, and their eyes wide with fear, but otherwise they look unharmed. It does nothing to lighten Clarke's mood.

Five minutes pass in silence - Clarke glares at the two guards, who shift uneasily under her furious eyes – until Kane comes in. The relief that fills Clarke's chest at the sight of him, however, promptly turns into dread. His mouth is a thin angry line, and he looks disappointed – but not with the guards. With her.

"Clarke", he admonishes her. "It is not your prerogative to interfere in matters of security, member of the council or not. As your Chancellor, I am _ordering_ you to let this go."

She lifts her chin, defiant, refusing to back down. " _Security_? We're talking about a few berries and fruits! This is hardly criminal activity."

"This is theft", Kane retorts coldly. "And it is unacceptable."

For a moment, she feels like she's back on the Ark, watching her mom confront Officer Kane about some rule or other. It's jarring, how quickly he reverted back to his old self.

She wonders if they will ever really outgrow their past.

"I though this wasn't the Ark anymore", she says, trying a new tactic. Kane's face softens.

"We can't allow any kind of theft while our resources are so limited, Clarke. Examples are to be made, if we want to prevent this type of behavior."

She stares at him unflinchingly and he sighs, a bit of uncertainty creeping in his voice at last. "It is for the best. For all of us. If we want to survive another winter, even _a few berries and fruits_ could make a difference."

"Who are you trying to convince here, Chancellor?", she replies. "I think you know this is a completely disproportionate reaction."

Kane opens his mouth to answer, but before he can utter a word, Bellamy bursts in and launches himself at Kane, pinning him against the wall, hands tight in the collar of his shirt.

"What the hell is going on?", Bellamy roars in his face. The tendons in his neck are sticking out, his hands shake with anger.

The three guards all take a step towards him but Kane stops them with a raised hand. "Mr Blake, release me now", he says, firmly.

Bellamy lets him go but doesn't move away. "I said, what is going on, Kane?" he asks again, between gritted teeth.

"Two of your proteges were caught stealing from the fields today. The guards acted accordingly."

"Did they?", Bellamy asks, darkly. He sneaks a glance at Clarke, then at the boys looking at him hopefully.

Kane smooths out the rumpled collar of his shirt. "Camp Jaha's penal code clearly states that anyone suspected of theft will be apprehended and jailed until fair trial."

"Again, we're talking about a handful of berries, here. Just to put things into perspective", Clarke adds, in an obsequiously helpful tone.

Kane presses his lips together. Bellamy pounces at the hint of hesitation in Kane's eyes.

"So you mean to tell me these guys have been working for hours in the heat, harvesting vegetables and fruits for all of us, and that's how you repay them? By locking them up because they _dared_ to take a little bit for themselves?"

"That seems fair to me", Clarke adds, in the same falsely innocent tone as before. "Actually, since times are difficult and our survival is at stake, why don't we reinstate the death penalty for any and all crimes – we know how well that worked out on the Ark." She pauses. "Of course, these two are minors, but", and here her eyes narrow, and her voice grows icy, "this has never stopped the council before. After all, you sent us down to earth to die – might as well finish the job."

Kane closes his eyes, and deflates under their concerted assault. "Major, release the prisoners. Let's forget about all of this, and move on."

While Bellamy goes to check up on Chris and Min-Jun, Kane turns to Clarke.

"I _do_ want what's best for our people, you know", he says softly. "Same as you."

She considers him, torn between pity and resentment. "I know."

"We won't survive another winter, if we don't take drastic measures now", Kane insists. "This is our first harvest, and all our calculations predict we will barely have enough food to last until next spring."

"Doesn't make this right", Clarke says, pointedly.

"No, it doesn't", Kane agrees. To his credit, he does look a bit ashamed. "But it means we have to come up with a solution, together, or we will starve."

 

 

News of the incident travel fast, and soon all of Camp Jaha is brimming with tension again. The large majority is appalled, but it's nothing compared to the former delinquents, who loudly call for retaliation. Bellamy even has to stop an ill-advised attempt to assault the guards responsible for the arrest. Clarke takes it upon herself to send Min-Jun and Chris to the infirmary, worried that the presence of their martyrs at dinner would only embolden the more agitated kids.

"The worst thing is, Kane is right", Clarke says, forlornly looking at her half-full plate of beans.

She's sitting with Lincoln and Octavia at one of the relatively isolated corner tables. Octavia narrows her eyes.

"What do you mean, _Kane is right_?"

"We can't spare anything right now. I've looked over our stocks, and I know we still have at least four months before the worst of winter, but it doesn't look great."

"What about the trade agreements?", Octavia asks, reclining in her chair, arms crossed. Clarke has never seen her so serious, so focused.

"That helps. But I'm not so sure it will be enough." Clarke takes a bite of her food and forces herself to swallow, frowning at the lack of flavor. "I guess I can always beg Lexa for help, if it comes to that. I don't think she'd let us starve, or freeze to death."

Lincoln cocks his head. "You know there _is_ another solution to this problem."

"Lincoln, I don't know what else..."

"Clarke", he interrupts her, gently. " _Trikru_ has been surviving off this land for decades. And our biggest town, TonDC, only counts about two hundred people."

"Two hundreds? Wait, but the missile...", Clarke starts.

"The missile killed more because warriors from the twelve clans had gathered at TonDc following the Commander's call for arms."

She hums her understanding, and Lincoln continues. "We have survived because our people are scattered across our land in small villages rather that a huge camp. Small amount of people means it's easier to provide food for everyone – easier to forage for plants and to hunt without depleting the woods. The earth is generous", he says with a smile, "but its resources are not infinite."

"So you think we should split up?", Clarke asks, thoughtful.

Lincoln nods. "I think it's your best option."

"And it's perfect timing", Octavia adds, pointing with her chin at the tables close to them, full of restless unhappy delinquents.

Clarke eats another spoonful of beans, quiet, and thinks of the possibilities.

The next morning, she requests a private audience with the Chancellor, and brings the matter up to Kane.

"No", he refuses, as soon as he hears her proposal. "Dividing us is not the answer. We're stronger together, Clarke. If this is about what happened yesterday..."

"It isn't", she cuts him off, firmly. "Well, it's not _only_ about that", she amends, before recounting her conversation with Lincoln.

"This might be good for Grounders, but it isn't for us. We've gone this far together, Clarke. We survived _together_."

Clarke shakes her head. "No, we didn't. We survived in space because we forged a ruthless, cruel, inhumane society that deemed it morally right to sacrifice those we thought were _expendable._ "

Kane's mouth opens in shock.

"Let's not lie to each other, Marcus", Clarke says, after a pause to allow her words to sink in. "We both know trouble has been brewing in Camp Jaha for a while now. Some of us aren't happy here."

She can tell by the lines around his eyes that he doesn't like where she's going– yet he keeps quiet, which means he knows she's right. She rests her forearms flat on the council table and leans towards him, persuasive, dangerous.

"My friends are angry. Many Arkers are tired of dealing with all the restrictions we impose on them. It's only a matter of time before you have a riot on your hands. You have a choice to make here, Kane: let me take some of the burden off your shoulders, or find out what will happen the hard way."

Kane lets his chin fall on the palm of his hand, contemplating her. "What have we done to our children, that they so wish to run away from us", he muses, tone tinged with sadness.

 Clarke lets out a relieved, careful breath, and softens her gaze. She knows she's won – now is time to soothe the blow and get back on his good side.

"You want " _this is not the Ark anymore_ " to be true? The Ark forced us all to live together in cramped quarters, with too few resources for everyone to thrive. With too little _air_ for all of us to breathe freely. The only difference is, in space we had no choice."

She locks eyes with him. "We're on the ground now. You just have to _let us go_."

He sighs and stays silent for so long she wonders if she should say something. Then he sighs again. "You'll have to negotiate access to a new territory with the Grounders."

"Of course", Clarke agrees easily. She can think of the details later, all she wants for now is Kane's approval.

"Volunteers only. No-one leaves Camp Jaha if they don't want to."

"Obviously."

"And you'll make sure you have everyone a community would need to function. I'm talking medically trained individuals, engineers, farmers, foragers..."

"Yes", Clarke says, trying not to sound impatient. "I'll come up with a list for you to authorize."

He rubs two fingers on his temple. "You will still be completely under the council's authority."

She opens her mouth to protest and he raises a tired hand to stop her. "No, no, you know what, we can agree on the exact terms later." He nods. "Alright. I'll grant you conditional permission to establish a small settlement of Arkers separate from Camp Jaha. Now, I'm going to go get some breakfast and think this through. I suggest you do the same."

Clarke waits for the door to close behind him, before she allows herself a victorious smile.

 

 

 

The first thing she does is ask Bellamy and Raven to meet her in the empty watchtower.

"This better be good", Raven grumbles as she makes her way up the ladder with some difficulty. "I have work to do."

Bellamy follows her, eyes fixed on her back in case she stumbles. Once the three of them are safely up and away from curious ears, Clarke turns her back to the horizon line, and faces her friends.

"I may have convinced Kane to let a small group of us build our own camp away from Camp Jaha."

Bellamy's eyes widen almost comically, and Raven blinks a few times in a row.

"And I think you both should come." They stay mute, so Clarke keeps talking, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I mean, obviously I won't force anyone, but Bellamy, you're not happy here – you said it yourself, these are the people who sent us down here to die. They floated your mom, just like they floated my dad. Sure, they made you a member of the council, but will they ever truly look at you and not see a janitor-turned-criminal? Our friends trust you and they need you. And..."

"Hey, hey", he interrupts her, eyes crinkling with amusement. "You don't have to convince me, Clarke. I'm in. Of course I want to leave this place."

Clarke instinctively reaches to squeeze his hand, grateful, relieved. She's reminded of the satisfaction she used to feel when she was done repairing one of the many holes in an old fishing net, back when she was living with Aquia. The contentment of knowing you've made a small step forward, even if the mending is not quite finished yet.

"Raven?", she asks cautiously when she realizes the other girl still hasn't said anything.

Raven is biting her lip, looking unsure. "Is this really the best idea? We're safe here, we have a huge fence and watchtowers and guards with machine guns. Who's gonna stop Grounders from attacking us as soon as we pitch a tent outside of Camp Jaha?"

"The alliance will stop them", Clarke says. Raven gives her a pointed look.

"Didn't seem to mean a lot to them the first time."

"It's different now. We're not at war", Clarke answers. A beat, and she places a careful hand on Raven's shoulder, bracing herself for rejection. " _Trust_ _me_ , we will be safe."

Raven breathes out slowly, and doesn't shrug off Clarke's hand, which Clarke takes as progress.

"I need a lot of medical attention", Raven says, still hesitant, when Clarke lets her hand fall back to her side. "What if the best thing for me is to stay near Abby and the med bay?"

"I'm the closest thing to a doctor, after my mom and Jackson", Clarke replies. "I'll be there if you need anything. Plus, we're not leaving without our fair share of supplies."

"And Gina is getting some med training right now", Bellamy adds, taking a step towards Raven. His hand goes up and curls around the back of Raven's neck, tentative, comforting, and the brief touch is intimate enough for Clarke to want to avert her eyes. "You know she'll take care of you."

Raven looks up at him, then at Clarke, and takes a deep breath. "Alright, fine. I'm in."

Before either of them can say anything else, Octavia barges in, looking pissed off. "Guys, we have to talk about Jasper."

Bellamy sighs, and rubs two fingers between his eyes. "What did he do now?"

She gives him an incredulous look. "See, that's the thing: all of you only see him as an inconvenience. But he's not a _problem_ , he's our friend! He's one of us, and he needs our help."

"You weren't there, O", Bellamy says, a little defensively. "I've tried talking to him, I've tried listening. I let him off work, I gave him work, had him stay in the med bay for a week, put him on the "no alcohol" list... He just doesn't wanna get better."

"Believe me, everyone has tried", Raven says. "After a while you get tired of being verbally assaulted every single day."

She has an odd look on her face, as she adds, "Some people, you can't change them. They'll just keep disappointing you."

Octavia crosses her arms against her chest, and glowers at the three of them. "We don't give up on our own", she scolds them, uncompromising.

Clarke feels a surge of guilt creeping up her throat. It's true, in a sense: she did give up on Jasper, after that first altercation in the med bay. She leans back against the wooden rail, pensive.

Bellamy shakes his head. "I hear you, O, but I really don't think Jasper will listen to me or Clarke. He won't even listen to Monty."

"So, how do we help someone who actively hates and resents us?", Clarke wonders.

Raven huffs. "Look, we all get that he's grieving for Maya. That he can't get past the three of you sentencing the girl he loved to die. Well guess what, some of us have gone through a _pretty_ _similar_ ordeal, and we've managed to not be complete assholes in the process."

She glances at Clarke, and quickly looks away, jaw locked. Clarke swallows the painful memory down, and stays on track.

"Maybe the problem is that nobody else is mourning with him, because we'd all rather forget about Mount Weather. Maybe the problem is that he can't grieve publicly", Clarke says, thinking out loud. "When I was away, someone told me you need to honor your dead in order to move on."

She hesitates, and Octavia gestures for her to keep talking. "We've been caught up in war for so long, we haven't had any time to remember the people we lost. What if we had a ceremony, for everybody? What if we had a place to mourn all of them? Not only Arkers, but the Grounders, and the people from Mount Weather who helped us."

"The Dropship", Bellamy says quietly. "It should be there."

"It's already a graveyard, anyway", Octavia agrees. "Might as well make it official."

Clarke thinks of Well's grave, unmarked, untended. She takes a shaky breath, and turns to Octavia.

"Will you ask Indra what she thinks of this? I know _Trikru_ burn their dead, but we could still put up a monument or something. Whatever they'd like."

Octavia smiles at her. "Yeah, I'll go now." She pauses, right as she's about to go down the ladder. "Thanks for listening to me."

Soon after she disappears, Raven leaves for the workshop, and Bellamy goes with her, but Clarke stays. Her eyes wander towards the faded blue mountains that make up the horizon – will this be where they build a new home? She imagines a splatter of cabins on a rocky mountain flank, how close to the stars they would be up on a summit, on a clear summer night. She imagines a small hut for herself and Lexa visiting her, stolen hours in a big bed covered in furs, drinking mulled wine as they watch a snowstorm, cuddling in front of the fire.

She keeps day-dreaming about the future long after Octavia rides out of the gates, until her friend becomes but a cloud of dust far away on the horizon.

 

 

 

Indra agrees.

The next couple of days are spent on preparations for the memorial. For the first time in a while, Kane is unconditionally supportive of Clarke's idea, delighted and eager to build even more bridges with the _Trikru_.

Clarke and Bellamy go through the painful task of remembering the names of those, among the original Hundred, who died at the Dropship, and the few who died in Mount Weather. Sinclair adds the names of Arkers who didn't survive the first days on the ground, and engraves a commemorative plaque for each Ark Station that crashed or disappeared during reentry.

The ceremony takes place on a bright, sunny day. The Dropship is still intact, empty but for a few rabbits and birds ; new grass covers the circle of burnt ground around it, growing from the ashes of fallen warriors and dead children.

Indra and a crowd of _trikru_ people are waiting under the trees for the Arkers delegation, and maybe it's the weight of what happened in that place, or the memories it brings back, but Clarke can't help the swell of emotion when she grasps Indra's forearm in greeting.

Her eyes tear up, and although everybody is waiting for her to say something, she finds herself unable to speak, fearing she'll start crying.

Indra, surprisingly gentle, pats her on the shoulder. "Let us begin", she proclaims, her voice clear and steady. And so they do, the Arkers following Indra's lead without hesitation.

The official service in itself is short – Kane makes a heartfelt speech, and presents the plaques with the list of names and stations. When he's done, Indra asks two warriors to bring forward a huge sculpted tree trunk, carved with symbols representing the warriors who died in the ring of fire.

Afterwards, though, most people linger. Some have brought personal items to remember their loved ones, others just take a moment to reflect. Jasper stands at the edge of the clearing, carefully placing flowers under a small tile where the name Maya is written in green paint. Octavia and Bellamy are at his side, and though Clarke can't hear what they say to him, it's obvious that Jasper's crying, and her heart tightens. But then Bellamy gathers him in an embrace and Octavia turns around, and sees Clarke looking at them. She gives her a little nod of confirmation, and Clarke answers with a sad smile.

 

 

She finds the grave easily, and kneels in the soft grass, like she did all those months ago, when they found his body in the woods nearby.

 _I miss you_ , she thinks, trying to picture what Wells would say to her, how he would feel about the decisions she's had to make this past year. Would he agree with her? Would he see her differently after the ring of fire, after TonDC, after Mount Weather? Would they still be friends after witnessing what war had made of them?

Would Wells love her as _wanheda_ as much as he loved her as Clarke?

Someone kneels next to her but Clarke doesn't move, lost in contemplation.

"Do you remember that time", Abby says, quietly, "I think you and Wells were ten. You'd lost your only crayon, the red one, and you were miserable about it. Your dad had been trying to get you a new one for weeks, but with the restrictions it was impossible to find and he didn't want to get involved in the black market. And then one day, Wells shows up at our door, with not one, not even two, but five color crayons. A gift to you, he said."

Abby pauses, and squeezes Clarke's shoulder lightly. "God, the look on your face, honey... I'll never forget how happy you were. And then", she adds with a chuckle, "you wanted to return the favor, and you stole one of Jake's engineering books, because Wells had decided he wanted to build a spaceship to travel to Jupiter."

Clarke smiles, eyes welling up with tears. "I remember."

"We played along, your dad and I, pretended we had no idea where that book had gone, even though Wells was literally reading it in front of us. You were so happy that he was happy, and that was the most important thing. He was family to us too, you know", her mother reflects, slipping an arm around Clarke's shoulders. "I miss him too."

Clarke leans against her mother, and lets the tears fall.

 

 

Raven doesn't attend the ceremony. Clarke knows her mom suggested she uses the occasion to scatter Finn's ashes, but Raven refused. "I'm keeping him", Clarke heard her tell Abby, brusque and definitive.

Clarke thought of going to see Raven, of talking to her - and then thought better of it. Finn is a constant ache in her heart, and she longs for that wound to heal, but she owes it to Raven to let her close that door. And if she's not ready yet, well, Clarke will wait, painful as it is.

She's deep in thoughts when Indra approaches her. The warrior stands next to her, silent at first. "He should not be here", she says eventually, a quiet whisper meant only for Clarke's ears.

"Who?", Clarke murmurs in response.

"Lincoln. He's going to get himself killed."

Clarke's eyes search the crowd, until she recognizes his broad silhouette, partially hidden behind the trunk of a massive tree.

"I had no idea he would come. I'll go get him right now", Clarke says, but Indra puts a hand on her arm to stop her.

"Don't. Let him stay a little more. He hasn't been near his people in a long time." She breathes out, like it pains her to say so, and then adds: "Despite the Commander's kill order, I cannot think of him as anything but one of us."

Clarke is surprised, and touched, by the admission. "I'll talk to her. I promised him. She _has_ to lift the kill order eventually."

Indra nods, but doesn't look convinced. "The Commander doesn't have time to spare for one warrior's fate, not when trouble is at her doorstep again."

"Trouble? You mean _Azgeda_?"

Indra nods again, serious eyes surveying the clearing. "The Sky People would do well to stay vigilant in the following months. The Queen's thirst for power is endless, and she could make a move against any of us."

Clarke swallows, surrounded by memories of the dead and by the people who loved them, and she makes a decision, secret in her heart. That whatever happens, she won't allow for more loss. She will _make_ the peace hold, if it's the last thing she does.

 

 

 

The harvest season is nearing its end when Clarke hears from Lexa again.

A rider is let into Camp Jaha, one evening, just before the sun sets. Miller brings him to the council room, where Clarke is still working on some paperwork.

"He says he has a message for you", Miller says. "From Polis."

Clarke has to stifle the urge to jump to her feet at those words. Instead, she puts her tablet away, carefully, and signals to the grounder to come in. Miller steps outside and closes the door, giving them some privacy.

"Please, sit down. Do you need water? Food? Will you be spending the night?", Clarke asks, composed and polite.

The man stands in front of her and bows his head. "Thank you, _wanheda_. I will leave as soon as my horse is fed."

She nods, and waits for him to talk. Curiosity and eagerness make her spine tingle, and she hopes none of it is showing.

" _Heda_ has tasked me with delivering a message to you", the man says. "She knows you have to send a convoy to Blue Cliff soon. As it is, _Heda_ is about to go on a trip to visit some clans, Blue Cliff included. She asks whether you'd consider joining her to travel together to Blue Cliff, and then staying with her for the remaining of her trip."

He pauses to take a breath, and Clarke's fingers drum impatiently on the council table.

" _Heda_ says the trip would take around two weeks, and would allow you to get acquainted with important clan leaders. She also says you're welcome to bring some of your people along."

Clarke's heart is beating fast in her chest, and she wants to smile so very badly. Of course, the reason Lexa gave the messenger is perfectly logical, and politically sound, but she _knows_ this is also Lexa trying to make time for them. She can hear in between the lines that Lexa misses her as much as she misses Lexa, and that knowledge floods her chest with a wave of something so warm, so soft and tender, it edges on painful.

The messenger looks at her, expecting an answer.

"Please tell the Commander that I accept her offer, and that I will meet her in TonDC in a week's time to begin our journey to Blue Cliff."

He nods and steps out of the room immediately, probably already thinking of his trip back to Polis, and Clarke is left alone, heart bursting with excitement. She's going to see Lexa soon. She's going to spend _two weeks_ traveling with Lexa, and she's so happy she lets out a tiny incredulous chuckle, propping her chin on the palm of her hand, smiling wide.

Monty finds her in that exact same position a good twenty minutes later, and he laughs at her when she startles at the sound of the door opening.

"Did I just catch the great Clarke Griffin dozing off instead of working?", he teases her. "Here, have some of this before you pass out."

Monty slides a pretty clay bowl filled with oatmeal and berries towards her, and her stomach grumbles at the sight of food, a loud reminder that she hasn't eaten anything since breakfast.

"Thanks", Clarke says, grabbing the bowl eagerly. "And I wasn't dozing off, I was.... thinking."

"Uh uh", Monty replies, hoping up to sit on the table. "Was the thinking related to what Lexa had to say to you, by any chance?"

Clarke, mouth full of oats, can only look up at him in surprise and, admittedly, embarrassment.

"Oh come on, Clarke", he laughs again. "We all noticed the guy wanted to talk to you only, which means it's from the Commander. Is it good news, at least?"

She swallows, cheeks reddening. "I'm gonna go with her on a trip to visit some other clans, after we drop off the wood for Blue Cliff. It's a good move, strategically. We have to get to know our allies a little better."

Her tone sounds defensive, like she's expecting criticism, but Monty only smiles.

"Good for you", he says. "A field trip with the Commander, now that's exciting!"

She smiles too, grateful for his friendship, and before she's aware of what she's doing, the words tumble out of her mouth.

"I miss her so much."

Monty blinks at her, surprised by the confession. Clarke feels herself blushing again. She bites the inside of her cheek.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to... Forget it."

"No, no, it's okay", Monty protests. He rests his elbows on his knees and leans forward. "You can talk to me, Clarke."

"There isn't much to talk about", she shrugs, toying with her spoon. "I just miss her."

She can tell he has questions, but mercifully he refrains from asking her anything, instead making a little hum of understanding.

"Tell me about you, though. If one were to believe the gossip, you and Miller are practically married at this point", she jokes, partly because she genuinely wants to know, partly to change the focus of this conversation.

Monty rolls his eyes. "That's ridiculous, we only had sex like, twice."

Clarke chokes on her oatmeal.

"Wait, that part was true?"

Monty grins, and starts talking.

 

 

The night before Clarke is supposed to leave, Camp Jaha gets another unexpected visitor. A grounder warrior who claims she wants to see Bellamy.

A guard comes to fetch him at dinner, and Clarke goes with him, as curious as he is. At the gate, a woman with dirty blond hair is waiting for them. She's clad in deerskin, her face covered in white paint, armed with a sword and a bow. She looks _dangerous_ , and Clarke's eyes widen at her sight, but Bellamy doesn't seem afraid of her in the slightest.

"Echo?" he says, the surprise in his voice mixed with delight.

"Bellamy of the Sky People. I'm glad I found you."

Clarke frowns. "You two know each other?"

"She was in Mount Weather", Bellamy says, motioning to the guard to let Echo through. "She helped me."

"And you helped me", Echo replies, walking toward them.

She extends her hand, and Bellamy takes it, the two of them staring at each other, lost in shared memory.

"I didn't think I would ever see you again", Bellamy whispers, before shaking his head, like he's trying to shake off the past. "This is Clarke, she's..."

"I know who _wanheda_ is", Echo cuts him, looking at Clarke appreciatively. " _Azgeda_ won't forget what we owe you."

Something cold slithers its way between Clarke's ribs. "You're Ice Nation?"

Echo nods. Bellamy sneaks a curious glance at Clarke, clearly noticing her discomfort, before he invites Echo inside the Ark, leading her towards the council room.

The three of them sit down, and he offers her water and oat cakes and fruits. Clarke is jittery with impatience and apprehension, but she lets him set the pace.

At last, Echo sets her empty cup on the table, and Bellamy cocks his head. "Why were you looking for me?"

Echo considers them. "It is time the Sky People and _Azgedakru_ have a talk."

"About what exactly?", Clarke asks.

Echo ignores her. "I am indebted to you, Bellamy, and so I asked my Queen to send me to your camp. We have nothing but respect and gratitude for your people. Like you, we are survivors of the Mountain Men. Like you, we sometimes struggle to find our place among the other clans."

She pauses and looks directly into Bellamy's eyes. There's something fierce about her, something that makes Clarke wary, even though Echo hasn't done anything yet to warrant suspicion.

"My Queen wants me to offer her friendship to your people", Echo says, still staring at Bellamy.

He nods, a little confused. "Okay, uh, thank you. But I'm not sure what we're supposed do with the Queen's friendship."

"She wants a privileged relationship with us", Clarke explains, catching a glint of approval in Echo's eyes. "What is she looking for, Echo?"

Echo shrugs, a gesture meant to suggest she doesn't try to guess the wishes of her leader. "I am a general of the Queen's army. War is my domain, diplomacy is not."

"Surely your Queen told you more about what her offer of friendship entails?", Clarke insinuates.

Echo's sharp eyes assess her. She hesitates, then leans on her elbows towards them. "There is one matter the Queen especially wants to discuss with the Sky People."

"What is it?", Bellamy asks.

"The Mountain. Sky People are the ones who defeated the Mountain Men, and as rules of war dictate, you should be the ones deciding of its use. Not the Commander."

Clarke sucks in a breath. She'd expected empty promises, offers of trade, even threats, but not this. Echo's words, like an arrow let loose by a skilled archer, find their target, the hidden place in Clarke's heart still harboring resentment over Lexa closing off Mount Weather. The words sink in, and they leave her shocked silent.

Bellamy has a grim look on his face. "I appreciate that, but I'm not sure there's anything to be done. The Commander's word is final."

Echo stretches and stands up. "If our people were to be friends, there is much we could accomplish together. Even the Commander can change her mind."

She bows her head slightly. "But I'm afraid my travels have left me very tired, I'm going to rest. I look forward to talking more tomorrow."

As soon as she's out the door, Clarke faces Bellamy. "I don't like this. Maybe I shouldn't leave tomorrow. Blue Cliff can wait."

Bellamy huffs, a bit indignant. "What, you don't think I can handle her on my own? It's just a courtesy visit, Clarke. I'll show her Camp Jaha and we'll talk about the war, and maybe address the possibility of trades between our clans, and then she'll be on her way. I can tell this talk of Mount Weather has spooked you, but there is nothing to worry about. She's not here to harm us."

Clarke shakes her head. "I'm not so sure. Lexa gave me plenty of reasons not to trust the Ice Nation. And Indra is worried about them too, ask your sister."

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. "So _Trikru_ and _Azgedakru_ have a complicated history, big deal! We're talking about two clans who've shared a border for decades, and have been at war for a long time as a result. Of course they're aren't fond of each other. I don't see how that concerns us."

Clarke bites her lip, and decides on brutal honesty. "I trust Lexa. I don't trust Echo."

"Well, I do", Bellamy shoots back, a little curt. "Echo saved my life in Mount Weather. I can't say the same about Lexa."

Clarke winces a little, but she can't fault his logic. She sighs. "Fine. Just promise me you'll be careful. I still think _Azgeda_ is up to something."

His face softens. "Of course. Clarke, don't worry, I got this. And you better promise _me_ that you'll come back this time."

Clarke nods, sincere. "I promise."

 

 

It seems Bellamy's concern for her return is largely shared around Camp Jaha. She has to make the same promise to many people – her mom, of course, Raven, Monty, Harper, Octavia, even Kane and Sinclair.

It takes her so long to say her goodbyes, she's starting to feel somewhat annoyed at the delay – part of it being her impatience to see Lexa again - but there's also gratitude swelling inside of her. Sometimes she forgets that so many people genuinely love her.

In the end, she's allowed to leave Camp Jaha. Miller and Monroe are coming with her – Clarke wanted a small escort, people she trusts who could handle themselves in case of trouble. Miller and Monroe volunteered.

The three of them walk for most of the morning, taking turns to lead the horse pulling the cart filled with wood. It's a long hike from Camp Jaha to TonDC, but not an unpleasant one. They left early enough that they escape the brunt of the sun, and the path takes them across the woods, where the air is cool and they find plenty of streams to refill their water supply when needed.

They get to TonDC relatively on time. Kids run up to them with water and fresh fruits as they enter the village, and Miller laughs and hoists an excited little boy on his shoulder. _What a difference a year of peace makes,_ Clarke thinks, remembering a time where they were welcomed with spears and curses. Lexa and a small band of warriors are waiting for them in the square, standing by their horses.

Clarke wonders if seeing Lexa will always feel like this, a clap of thunder in her heart, a wave of desire and tenderness drowning out everything else – and underneath it all, _solace_.

They exchange a few words of greeting, Lexa's eyes lingering on Clarke's mouth, and Clarke wants nothing more than to touch her, to kiss her, to whisper against the soft skin of her belly how much she's been missed. But the warriors are growing impatient, and too soon, Lexa gives the command to depart. She's provided an empty cart for the Arkers – apparently, the road today is too difficult for inexperienced riders - and that means Clarke is in the middle of the cortege, while Lexa rides at the head. She tries her best to hide her disappointment.

They travel at a fast pace without any stops, eating snacks on the way, until eventually the path gets too steep even for the grounders, and they have to get down to lead the horses on the sinuous, traitorous trail tracing its way up the rocky hills. They don't walk for that long but the back of Clarke's shirt is drenched in sweat by the time they reach their destination.

They get to a small limestone plateau, large enough for their whole group to stand together, and Lexa signals to stop. Clarke, curious, walks up to the edge. Beneath them, a valley, green and lively, and the steady murmur of a river flowing through. Above, the hilltops narrow into cliffs, huge slabs of grey rock, smooth and seemingly inaccessible. The light of the dying sun shines blue on the rocky crest. Clarke's mouth opens, in sudden understanding. This is Blue Cliff.

She loses herself in the beauty of the sight, at first, but quickly her mind overflows with questions. If this is indeed Blue Cliff, where are the people? She can't see any hints of human life in the valley, which means they must be elsewhere, but the cliff can't... Clarke narrows her eyes, staring at the stony wall above her. And finally, piece by piece, she notices things. Steps and holes in the rock, light bridges of rope and beams, pillars supporting floorboards and balconies, timid tendrils of smoke rising to the darkening sky, speckles of lights betraying cooking fires.

The Blue Cliff people live _inside_ the cliff.

"Troglodytes", Clarke breathes out. Monroe give her a look. "It means people who live in caves and..."

"I know what _troglodytes_ means", Monroe cuts her off. She bites her lip as she looks up, appreciative. "Pretty nifty."

A small group of people suddenly appears on the bottom of the cliff wall, climbing down towards their visitors. As they approach, Clarke recognizes the woman leading them.

"Marion", she says, taking a few steps forward until she can greet the ambassador.

"Wanheda", Marion replies with a smile. "We are so pleased that you've found your way to us safely."

She turns to Lexa. "Commander", she adds with an elegant bow. "Blue Cliff is delighted to welcome you, as always."

"Thank you, ambassador."

Marion proceeds to introduce a few of the clan's leaders to Clarke, who shake hands and graciously accepts praise for her victory against Mount Weather, her strength, her bravery, and, unexpectedly, her hair.

(That last compliment is payed to her by a blushing young chieftain, and Clarke pretends she doesn't notice Lexa side-eyeing him for a good full minute.)

Once the introductions are over, Clarke presents the Blue Cliff leaders with their part of the deal, and in return they show her the goats they will send to Camp Jaha the next morning. Everybody is satisfied, and at last Marion invites the travelers up the cliff and inside a huge cavern, where a celebratory dinner has been set up, with long tables drowning in food and benches packed with cheerful people.

The evening meal keeps on long into the night. Clarke, who stayed up late the night before and traveled all day, can't help yawning more and more frequently as the conversations go on. Before she can think of a polite way to ask about their sleeping arrangements, Lexa comes to her rescue, letting Marion know they would all like to retire for the night. And so Marion leads them higher up the cliff, to smaller caves scattered on the wall, linked by tunnels and walkways and footbridges. She indicates some to Lexa's warriors, who stop and bid their Commander goodnight. Eventually, she directs them to a modest cave furnished with a few straw mattresses.

"For the Sky People" she says.

Clarke starts shrugging off her pack but Marion stops her with a hand on her arm. "Not you, _wanheda_. This room is unworthy of you, it's for your companions. We have saved our best for the Commander and you."

Miller and Monroe stare at her, and Clarke can feel her cheeks turning a violent shade of red.

"I... that's not necessary, I can stay with my friends. I don't want to inconvenience the Commander", she stammers, looking at Lexa for help. Lexa frowns.

"This is no trouble, Clarke. I share my quarters with others all the time, while away on travels or on war campaigns."

"I have to insist, _wanheda_ ", Marion says. "My people want to offer you the best of their hospitality, and they would be hurt to know you refused the room they chose for you."

Miller's mouth quirks. "Go on, Clarke. I think we can survive one night without you."

Against such an onslaught, Clarke has no choice but to admit defeat.

 

 

Marion takes the two of them even higher up the cliff, to a small cave accessible only by climbing a ladder of metal bolted into the stone. The room is lit with dozens of candles, painting the smooth walls of stone in warm orange and red. Two beds of furs have been prepared, as well as a corner table with a pitcher of mint water and fresh fruits.

Clarke thanks Marion profusely, and they exchange a few more polite words before the ambassador disappears behind the piece of thick brown cloth hiding the entrance of the room.

At last, a good twelve hours after they met up in TonDC, Clarke is left alone with Lexa.

They look at each other, and Clarke doesn't think - she throws her arms around Lexa's waist, and hugs her tightly, hiding her nose in the crook of Lexa's neck.

 _God_ she had missed this. The familiar smell of sweat and smoke, leather and wildflowers, the intimacy of feeling Lexa's warm skin against her mouth, Lexa's heart beating fast and soothingly strong against her breast.

Lexa cups Clarke's face and kisses her, soft, soft as the way she looks at Clarke sometimes like she's the most precious girl in the world, soft as the night that surrounds them, hides them, protects them. Isolated in such a foreign place, far away from the noise of the party, far away from Lexa's warriors and Clarke's friends, Clarke could almost believe they are completely alone.

"So you didn't want to spend the night with me?" Lexa whispers, teasing, against Clarke's mouth. "Should we sleep in separate beds?"

"Shut up", Clarke laughs, and flicks Lexa on the nose just because she can.

Lexa catches her wrist, fast as a bird of prey, and drops a kiss on her palm. She's smiling, and she looks content, despite the weariness of a long day of travel showing on her face.

"There hasn't been a day since I left that I didn't think of you, Clarke. And yet, finally seeing you today but being unable to touch you, unable to kiss you, unable to talk to you? That was even harder than being away from you for so long."

Clarke blinks back unexpected tears. "I wish we didn't have to spend so much time apart, you and I", she says, voice hoarse with emotion.

Lexa's thumbs trace light circles on the apple of her cheeks, and she kisses her forehead once, slow and sweet. There's something intense and vulnerable in Lexa's gaze, raw honesty, like she's about to lay herself bare before Clarke, and that scares Clarke a little.

"I know I cannot ask this of you", Lexa starts, in a low voice. "I know what we have is already a blessing, and I am grateful for every minute of it. But allow me to say this, allow me this moment of selfishness. There is _nothing_ that would make me happier, than you coming to live in Polis with me."

"Lexa...", but Lexa shushes her with a finger to her lips.

"One moment of selfishness", she repeats, quietly. "Because I am the Commander, and I cannot abandon my duties and go live wherever you live. But I won't pretend that I don't sometimes dream that one day, _you_ will."

Clarke swallows, and doesn't reveal that she has similar dreams. Lexa trails careful fingers down the slope of Clarke's cheek, and then down her neck. "As I said, I won't ask this of you, ever. And in the end, it doesn't matter. Clarke, even if we are separated for most of our lives, even if we only ever get stolen nights like this one, it won't change anything for me." Lexa takes a breath, and smiles, small and genuine and brimming with affection. "You have my heart, Clarke of the Sky People, now and forever."

Clarke blinks and breathes out very slowly - she's not sure she remembers how to talk, and even if she _could_ talk, even if her tongue wasn't sitting so heavily, useless, inside her mouth, she's not sure what she would say. All the feelings she can't afford to talk or even _think_ about, not when there is so much work to be done, are looming at the edge of her consciousness.

But she can't – it's too soon and she's not ready, and the lovely warmth of Lexa's words seem to congeal into an icy paralyzing state of panic, and -

"Clarke", Lexa says, with a fond smile. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I know."

Clarke closes her eyes in relief. Lexa knows. Of course, she knows. And she doesn't press the issue, doesn't push her. Instead, she cups Clarke's face, and looks at her with wonder and a silent question.

Clarke kisses her, and hopes this is answer enough.

When they separate, Lexa's eyes are hazy, unfocused, her cheekbones dark pink. Clarke licks her lips, and Lexa exhales softly, staring at her mouth.

"I could kiss you for days", she says, before she presses her lips to Clarke's again. This time, Lexa kisses her a little more forcefully, purposefully. Her tongue licks Clarke's lower lip, before she bites it, gently, hands trailing under Clarke's shirt to settle on her waist.

Clarke undoes the buttons of Lexa's simple cotton shirt and lets it fall on the ground, dropping kisses on Lexa's shoulders, her neck, the hard ridge of her collarbone. If she can't say how she feels, she will _show_ her.

They undress each other, unhurriedly, taking their time, touching and savoring each other. Lexa's fingers rub up and down Clarke's spine, just shy of the curve of her ass. Clarke swipes her thumbs against Lexa's hardened nipples, delighted to hear Lexa's gasp. She cups Lexa's breasts in her hands, and sinks her teeth in the pale skin of Lexa's throat, sucking till it turns purple.

Lexa lets out a small breathy moan, and presses both hands against Clarke's stomach, pushing her toward the bed. "Lie down", she orders in a soft murmur. Clarke falls on her back, and Lexa lowers herself on top of her, knees bracketing Clarke's legs, hands on either sides of her head.

For a minute or so, she doesn't move, just looks at Clarke's naked body underneath her with something so close to worship it makes Clarke's head spin.

"Clarke", she says at last, "you are so _beautiful_."

Clarke fidgets a little, blushing. "You're beautiful", Lexa repeats and kisses between her breasts. "So" she kisses one nipple, "very" and the other – Clarke shivers, "pretty" her tongue licks a path down Clarke's stomach.

When Lexa's teeth graze her hipbone, Clarke whines and sinks her fingers into Lexa's soft hair, pushing her head down where she needs her. Lexa chuckles, a soft puff of air against Clarke's sensitive skin. "So demanding", she teases, resting her chin on Clarke's thigh to look up and straight into Clarke's eyes.

This isn't a sight Clarke will ever get tired of, Lexa between her legs, green eyes bright with desire, tongue poking out between rosy lips.

Lexa makes her come three times, just with her mouth, and after the third orgasm she crawls back up and gathers Clarke in her arms and kisses the skin just beneath her left breast, kisses the fluttering beat of Clarke's heart, and Clarke feels boneless and elated and lightheaded, and – loved. She feels _loved_.

 

 

 

They are well on their way to the Boat Clan's main encampment when one of Lexa's scouts traveling ahead rushes back to meet them. Following him is a woman dressed in nondescript clothes, with two dots of green paint under each eye. Lexa abruptly orders the group to stop and dismounts, hurrying to walk up to the woman, alone. They talk, in hushed voices, too far away for Clarke to hear anything.

The woman doesn't show much emotion, but Lexa's face is less stoic, for once. Her eyes are focused, serious and thoughtful while she considers whatever she's being told – but the thin line of her lips, the flex of her jaw, are telltales signs of her irritation.

Eventually, the woman is dismissed, and she disappears like a shadow among the trees, while Lexa strides back to Clarke's horse.

"Walk with me", she says. Clarke complies, eager to understand what just happened.

When they are hidden from curious eyes and ears, Lexa stops. "I just received a message from an important ally of mine, asking me to come meet her as soon as possible."

Lexa looks calm as ever, but that underlying current of irritation is still there, tainting her words with tension. "I cannot refuse her request. This means I won't be able to complete our trip as planned, and I'm sorry, Clarke. If it is your wish, you can go on without me. I'll make sure my warriors guide you and your friends to your destination."

She sighs, fingers fidgeting with the tip of one of her braids. "However, it seems my old friend is aware that you are traveling with me, and the messenger said you were welcome as well. I'll leave that choice to you."

Clarke narrows her eyes. "Who is this friend, and why does she have the power to summon the Commander at her will?"

Lexa huffs. "She doesn't. And I am not _summoned_." Clarke quirks an eyebrow, arms crossed. Lexa sags against the robust trunk of an oaktree. "Her name is Luna."

Now _that_ gets Clarke's attention. "Luna? Lincoln mentioned that name once, said she was a friend of his. That she lived by the sea... Wait, I thought Luna was the leader of the Boat Clan?"

Her mind is buzzing with questions, but Lexa seems reticent to answer her. After a long pause, she grumbles: "Well, she _does_ live on a boat."

When she doesn't add anything else, Clarke rolls her eyes. "Lexa", she says, in a tone close to scolding. "Who is she? You have to give me more than that."

Lexa scowls. "She's the leader of a small group of outsiders. They aren't part of the coalition, but like your people, I have made an alliance with them to ensure peace."

"That doesn't explain how she can just send a messenger telling you to come, and you drop everything to do what she wants", Clarke replies. Her chest feels tight – she's disappointed that their trip is cut short so abruptly, and a little annoyed that Lexa is being so secretive.

"I knew her before I ascended", Lexa starts. Clarke gives her a puzzled look. "Before I became Commander", Lexa clarifies. "She's one of the only people who truly understand the nature of my duties, so I know that if she calls for me, it's an important matter. She, hmm, provides certain services to me, and in exchange I make sure her people are left alone and shielded against the clans."

Ah. So there is _history_ between these two, shared painful memories if Clarke had to guess, and that explains Lexa's somber mood. "What services?", Clarke asks, curious.

Lexa shakes her head. "I can't tell you that, Clarke."

"Fine", Clarke huffs, a little petulant. "I'll just ask Lincoln, then. Since he's Luna's friend, I'm sure he'll know what she does for you. He's been _very_ helpful so far."

Lexa's scowls deepens, and now she looks displeased in earnest. "Has Lincoln been telling you our secrets? I thought he had some honor left."

"I asked him to", Clarke retorts, shortly. "And Lincoln is the most honorable man I've ever known. He deserves a full pardon, and the kill order to be revoked, and you know it."

"He disobeyed a direct order, Clarke."

"And he was right to do so", Clarke snaps back. Lexa's green eyes bore into hers, quietly disapproving. "Don't look at me like that, you know he was trying to help us. He didn't follow your command, but he had good intentions, and it's time you forgave him already. Peace is for forgiveness, right?"

When Lexa doesn't answer, Clarke delivers the final blow. "I forgave _you_ ", she says, gently.

"Clarke..." Lexa's voice is soft, a little hesitant, but she straightens her shoulders. "Even if I did pardon him, no clan would ever take him back. He's a traitor, and people aren't kind to traitors. He'd still be stuck in Camp Jaha. What would be the point in..."

"I want to leave Camp Jaha", Clarke interrupts her. "I want to build a new settlement, and I want Lincoln to live with us. I want him to be able to travel wherever we end up going without fearing for his life."

Lexa's mouth opens. "You want to leave Camp Jaha? But you don't have a big enough territory to support two independent villages."

"I know. That's why I want your help to negotiate another piece of land for us."

Lexa closes her eyes and rubs two fingers on her temple. "And why would I do that?"

Clarke braces herself. She's been thinking it over since Echo's visit, waiting for a good time to tell Lexa, and now is as good as it will get. "Because of Mount Weather."

Lexa's eyes open, and she stares at Clarke, fierce and uncompromising and – they are having a serious conversation, something edging dangerously close to a fight. It's not the right time at all, but Clarke can't help a surge of affection, of admiration, for the girl standing her ground in front of her.

"We've talked about this", Lexa states, with finality. "Mount Weather was never yours to take."

Clarke remembers Echo's words. "But _I'm_ the one who defeated the Mountain Men. Shouldn't it be mine by right? What if I went to Polis, and laid my claim? What would your warriors think? Who would your people support, you or the one who freed them from the Mountain? You or _wanheda_?"

Lexa cocks her head, eyebrows rising in disbelief. "Is that a threat, Clarke?"

"It doesn't have to be. I'll give up Mount Weather, if you promise to find me a place to set up a new camp."

"I see. So it's not a threat exactly, but it's blackmail." Lexa's stern voice resonates between them, loud in the quiet woods.

"It's politics", Clarke shrugs, with a half guilty smile. "It's what we do, you and I."

Lexa breathes out a deep sigh, and then, to Clarke's surprise, she lets herself slide down to the ground until she's sitting, back still leaning against the tree, one leg bent at the knee. "This will never be easy, will it."

Clarke kneels on the mossy ground next to her, unease rising at the back of her throat, and places a careful hand on Lexa's thigh. Lexa glances at the fingers splayed on her leg. The tension in her shoulders, in her mouth, has dissolved, turned to vague sadness instead.

"Have I crossed a line?", Clarke asks, genuinely concerned.

"No", Lexa reassures her. "No, it's alright. I forget sometimes, that _this_ is also who we are to each other. Who we must be."

Clarke rubs her thigh lightly. "We'll get better at finding the balance", she says. "We're still learning, _I'm_ still learning, how to - how to navigate that thing between us, and the demands of our positions." She gives Lexa a small smile. "We'll do better. We have plenty of time."

She squeezes Lexa's thigh. "And I'm going with you to see Luna. No way am I leaving you so soon."

Lexa returns her smile, weakly, and lays one hand on top of Clarke's, lacing their fingers together.

They hold hands for a long time, sitting still and quiet on the forest floor.

 

 

Clarke smells it before she sees anything. The salt in the air, the humid pungent taste on her tongue.

She breathes in deeply as a gentle breeze pushes strands of hair in her face. She closes her eyes, undisturbed, and inhales again. It smells like nothing she's ever experienced before, wet and strong, something musty about it. And then her horse stops, and she opens her eyes, and she sees.

Water, stretching out indefinitely before her, blue-green with ribbons of white where the waves crash on the rocky beach. It's the first time she sees the ocean. Well, of course that's not entirely true. She's watched videos and movies, stared at countless pictures with envy. Technically, she's actually seen every single ocean on Earth, longingly gazing down at them from space, forehead pressed against one of the cold portholes of the Ark.

But nothing compares to being _there_ , the materiality of the sea hitting her with unexpected wonder, the smell, the noise, the horizon line made of dark blue water, barely distinguishable from the blue of the sky.

"God", Miller whispers next to her. His voice is awed, like he really finds something _holy_ in the sight in front of him.

"I know", Clarke says, looking at him looking at the sea. It reminds her of their first days on Earth, full of discovery and beauty, before all the horrors started raining down on them.

Miller catches her eye, and grins. "Know what I'm thinking, Griffin? We've been traveling all day, and I believe we deserve a break."

Clarke barely hesitates before she's off her horse. "We'll be right back", she yells in the approximate direction of Lexa. And then she's running toward the ocean, Miller on her heels.

They get to the water at the same time, and Miller starts shedding his clothes haphazardly on the sand. "Come on, Clarke!"

She looks back at the people they left behind – the grounders and Monroe have gotten off their horses too, stretching and milling around. Obviously, Lexa has ordered everyone to take a break. Clarke quickly strips to her underwear.

The first wave to kiss her bare ankle makes her groan – the water is freezing, despite the warm summer sun. Miller is already half immersed, waves lapping at his bare stomach, so she grits her teeth and follows him. After the first shock, her body adapts to the cold, and the contrast with the warm damp air becomes pleasantly refreshing. Clarke dunks her head underwater and listens to the muffled sound of the waves growing from the silent bottom of the sea only to roll and fold onto the shore, one after the other.

When she resurfaces, Miller is sitting on a rock with his feet in the water, drying in the sun, and Lexa is standing on the wet sand of the shoreline, eyes on her, an alarmed look on her face. "Please, be careful", she calls out to Clarke, body tensed in a way that tells Clarke she was one minute from diving in to her rescue.

Clarke shakes her wet hair, and smiles. "I'm fine!", she yells in response. She feels carefree, on some improbable vacation where she has no responsibility, no task to accomplish, no worries about the future.

Afterwards, when she's had her fill of salt water and playing in the waves, Lexa is waiting for her, a dry towel in her hands. She wraps her in the soft cloth and rubs her arms, her shoulders, her hair, drying her off efficiently, and with such tenderness Clarke's heart is melting inside her chest.

The warriors are probably watching – her _friends_ are probably watching – but in that moment, Clarke doesn't care. Nestled in Lexa's arms, warm and relaxed and safe, her only thought is that _this_ feels like _home_.

So she presses her still-wet body against Lexa, and whispers in her ear: "If I could live anywhere I want, I'd chose the ocean and you."

 

 

 

Because of their impromptu swim session, they make it to the rendezvous point just as night falls. Two men are waiting for them on the shore, a small sailboat anchored near the beach. Their orders are to bring Clarke and Lexa to Luna – only the two of them, though. Miller and Monroe look like they want to argue, but Clarke assures them she'll be safe, and they begrudgingly set up camp on the beach with the warriors.

Luna's men clearly know and respect Lexa. Clarke, however, is a stranger to them, and as such, a liability. Which means she has to wear a blindfold. Lexa is the one who ties the piece of cloth over her eyes. "Don't be afraid", she whispers softly in Clarke's ear. "I won't leave your side."

She doesn't, holding Clarke's hand the entire time.

It takes them a couple of hours to reach Luna's boat, and as soon as they take the blindfold off her, Clarke's mouth opens in shock.

It's not a boat, it's an oil rig, a wobbling pile of scrap metal emerging from the dark water. How this survived the nuclear bombs, she has no idea, but it's jarring and eerie to behold, the skeleton of a civilization long gone.

Luna is waiting for them on the highest platform, alone. She's a tall woman, with a mane of red hair not unlike the rusting iron surrounding her. Two dots of green paint adorn her cheeks.

"Hello Lexa", she says. Her voice is soft, yet everything about her exudes strength and confidence. "It's been too long."

"Luna", Lexa replies, sounding cautious. "What do you have for me?"

Luna shakes her head. "Always so serious. Won't you introduce me to your friend?"

Lexa rolls her eyes as Clarke takes a step forward, extends a hand. "Hi. I'm Clarke."

Luna clasps her forearm, with a smirk. "It's an honor to finally meet the famous _wanheda_." There's something in her tone, a hint of sarcasm, and Clarke can't tell if her title, in Luna's mouth, is compliment or mockery.

Luna looks at Clarke with thoughtful eyes, quietly assessing her, before turning her attention back to Lexa. "How's Titus? Does he still hate me?"

"He never hated you", Lexa answers, impatiently. Clarke gets the sense that this is a long-standing disagreement.

"Says his _favorite_ ", Luna retorts, with another smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. A pause, and her face softens into genuine concern. "And the _natblida_?"

"They're well. They're all wonderful students." There's a note of pride in Lexa's voice, and Clarke wonders who all these people are. She's hit with the sudden realization that she barely knows anything of Lexa's life in Polis – and that she really _wants to_.

"I heard that Anya died last year."

Luna's words have the effect of a gunshot – the silence afterward is deafening. Lexa swallows hard. "Gustus too", she says, in a small voice that tugs painfully at Clarke's heart.

Luna looks at Lexa with sadness in her eyes, and pity in the curve of her mouth. "They've lived good lives, but we all must return to the sea. I am sorry for your pain."

Lexa nods, face blank. Clarke longs to touch her, to provide some comfort, but she knows now isn't the time for vulnerability.

"The dead are gone", Lexa declares eventually, firm. "I'd rather focus on the reason you sent for me. What did you find?"

Luna grins, a little condescending. "Oh no, Lexa. This isn't going to work. First you give _me_ something I want, then I'll tell you what I know."

"That's not the deal", Lexa protests, frowning. "I keep you and your people alive, you give me _information_. I've done my part, all these years."

"You have", Luna agrees. She's still smiling, but her eyes are calculating, resolute. "As have I. But it's not enough anymore – my people need more than just being kept safe from the clans."

She pauses, and her voice grows pleading. "We deserve more than barely surviving on the outskirts of your coalition."

Lexa shakes her head, seemingly unmoved.

"It is the only way you can exist. Your people are fugitives, traitors, cowards. Like you, they've ran away from their duty. The clans won't ever accept you, that would make them _weak_. They won't trade with you, they won't help you, they won't save you. If nobody has laid waste to your boat yet, it's because _I_ have told them not to. _I_ have placed you under my protection. But I cannot force them to do more. You have no other choice, Luna."

"Wait", Clarke interrupts, mind reeling with ideas, trying to make sense of everything she's learned during this brief exchange. "Wait, what if this isn't true?"

Lexa and Luna both turn their heads towards her. "What do you mean, Clarke?" Lexa says, sounding both curious and a little exasperated.

"I mean, you say Luna's people are traitors and runaways, and that's why no clan will ever want anything to do with them. But that's not true, there is _one_ clan who couldn't care less."

Clarke looks at Luna, with renewed conviction. "My people, the Sky People. We could be your connection to the coalition."

Luna crosses her arms, considering Clarke's words. "The Sky People live too far away from us. Trading would take days, and would mean traveling through other clans' territories, something my people cannot do without risking their lives."

"Then give us some land", Clarke counters. "You control the coast – cede us a portion of the littoral, to build a village. We'll be your outpost. The missing link between your boat and the clans."

"And who would live there? How do I know I can trust them?", Luna asks. She looks unconvinced, but the light in her eyes betrays her interest.

" _I_ will live there", Clarke answers. "Me and my friends." She steals a glance at Lexa. "And Lincoln."

Lexa sucks in a breath, but bites back her objections. Luna's eyes go back and forth between the two of them. "I trust Lincoln, that is true. But what about the kill order? Don't forget, I have ears everywhere. I know he cannot leave the Sky People's camp."

"Lexa will lift the kill order", Clarke asserts, staring straight into Lexa's eyes. "Because it's the right thing to do. Because it will consolidate her alliances with both you and me, and thus make her peace stronger, more stable. And that is what's most important to the Commander of the Twelve Clans."

A few minutes of silence, as the three of them mull over Clarke's offer, and then Lexa exhales slowly.

"Alright", she says, hands clasped behind her back. "I'll allow it. If you are both set on this, I will do what you ask of me. Now, Luna, tell me what I've come all this way to hear."

The tone of her voice is clear – this is an order. Luna tilts her head, showing some deference at last. "Thank you, _Heda_."

Clarke is torn between relief and joy at what she just accomplished, and apprehension at what Luna is about to reveal.

"As you know, I have spies in the Ice Nation, infiltrated deep in the Queen's court, in her army, among the servants of her palace. One of them came back three days ago, after years of undercover work, because he's discovered something of tremendous importance – a well guarded secret, known only by a few select people of the Ice Nation, though the situation has borne some interesting rumors."

Luna takes a breath, and glances at Clarke. "Last fall, a ship fell from the sky, in the far northern territory of _Azgedakru_ , where no human, not even the fiercest ice warriors, can survive for long."

"Farm Station", Clarke says, matter-of-factly. She knows the story – how the station, shaken by an internal explosion as it detached from the Ark's ring, was sent completely off course, and crashed thousands of miles away from Alpha Station. How there was no way anybody could have survived.

"Sky People", Luna confirms. "They were found just before winter by a band of seal hunters, who captured them and held them prisoners until the Queen came back from Polis. This was when you were busy fighting the Mountain", she explains.

"So there were survivors?", Clarke says, dread tying her stomach in knots. "Did they... did the Queen execute them?"

"No", Luna answers, and there's an edge to her voice that tells Clarke she's about to learn something crucial. "Most of them are still alive."

Clarke's heart misses a beat. "They've been, as far as my source knows, treated well, although not allowed to leave their ship", Luna adds. Clarke feels numb, too shocked to process any of this.

"Hostages?", Lexa asks, succinctly. Luna nods.

"Oh my God", Clarke whispers, as horror creeps down her spine. "We never even looked for them. We abandoned them. Left them for dead."

Lexa presses a hand on her elbow, the light touch comforting, but her eyes stay on Luna. Her face is tight with controlled anger.

"How did I not know about any of this until _now_?"

Luna cocks her head. "Infiltrating the Ice Nation is hard – leaving is even harder, as I'm sure you are aware. The border is impenetrable, the warriors extra-vigilant – any misstep, any hint of treason will result in death, and the Queen's informants are everywhere. My source had to proceed carefully to ensure he'd come back to me alive and able to deliver the information."

"Does he know what the Queen's intentions are?", Lexa asks, briskly.

"Leverage against the Sky People. To force them on her side."

"So she's planning a coup", Lexa says, somber.

"But why does she want us?", Clarke wonders out loud. "We have no proper resources, save our guns, and very limited numbers. If she's trying to pressure a clan to support her cause, why not a bigger, stronger one? That makes no...", she cuts herself in the middle of her sentence, as understanding bursts in her mind, bright and terrifying.

"The Mountain", she murmurs, remembering Echo's visit. She sees Lexa's eyes darken as the truth dawns on her as well. "We're the only ones who know how to operate Mount Weather's equipment. Including the weaponry."

The silence that follows is dense, the air thick with the severity of the situation. Lexa bites her lip, once, and her back straightens, as if she's making herself stand tall in the face of uncertainty. "Even if she takes the Mountain, even if she has me killed and tries to take control of the coalition, she won't succeed without a Commander. Some might follow her, out of fear or opportunism – but the majority of the clans are faithful to the Blood, and I trust my _natblida_. They will hold the peace in the event of my death. They won't bend to her."

Clarke has no idea what this talk of blood is about, but one thing she is sure of. "You are not _dying_ ", she tells Lexa, holding her gaze with as much determination as she can muster.

Lexa smiles softly. "I don't intend to. But it is worth remembering that _even_ if Nia succeeds in killing me, it won't make a difference."

"Actually, it could", Luna says, grimly. "In his report, my spy mentioned something else, something that would change everything."

She pauses, and swallows, and the unease in her eyes makes Clarke's skin itch with anxiety. "Queen Nia has a _natblida_ of her own."

Lexa's mouth opens, but no sound comes out. Clarke's chest fills with dread, not from Luna's words – they don't mean anything to her – but because Lexa, for the first time, actually looks _scared_.

"This can't be", Lexa lets out shakily.

Clarke pushes down her own fears, and asks the question that has been on her mind since the beginning of this conversation. "What are _natblidas_?"

"Nightbloods", Luna answers her, when it's clear Lexa is too shocked to talk. "Children who bear the mark of the first Commander – the only ones who can hold the Commander's power. A great honor."

Her voice is bitter, and Clarke starts to piece everything together. "And you were one of them?", she asks Luna, directly this time. "Is this how you know Lexa?"

Luna acquiesces, lips pressed in a tight line, clearly reticent to talk about it.

"So the Queen has a candidate for the Commander's throne, presumably loyal to her, and she's gonna blackmail my people into supporting her, which means she'll have access to Mount Weather. What do we do now?", Clarke ponders.

It all feels surreal, and she's weirdly detached, like she's observing all of this play out from a distance, unable to fathom how everything she's worked for could be brought to such an abrupt end.

"We can't tell anyone", Lexa declares. She's still a little pale, but her eyes shine with resolve, steely and inexorable. "If any talk of this gets back to the clans, people will panic, it will be chaos. We _have_ to keep it a secret for now."

She stares at Clarke and Luna, until they both nod in agreement.

"I will convoke the ambassadors and clan leaders for an exceptional summit in a few weeks – Nia will have to come to Polis. Then, we'll confront her, in front of all to see, and with a bit of luck persuade her to release the hostages."

Clarke bites her lip, contemplative, somewhat doubtful. "Will this work?"

Lexa smiles dangerously, baring her teeth. For an instant, she looks feral, lethal, and Clarke can't take her eyes off her. "If she won't listen to reason, she _will_ answer to my sword."

 

 

On the way back to the beach, Clarke keeps her eyes trained on the ocean – the moonlight is ethereal, weak, dimmed by the fog drifting above the frothy waves, and she can't see the horizon line anymore, only a blur of grey-blue mist, lost between sea and sky.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I hope you liked the new chapter!


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